Deadly Memories

by Joanne Fluke

  She held the ring closer to the light, and tipped it so she could read the inscription.

  But what she saw wasn’t what she’d expected at all.

  The words were faint, written in a spidery, European hand. They said, “To Nick. Love forever, Emmy.”

  Maura shivered as the dreams she’d had came back to her in vivid detail. The way she’d hidden under the bed in her maid’s uniform, peeking out at the assassin’s shoes. The scene at the airport where something terrible had happened to Nick. The icy slope where she’d watched them thaw the ground for his grave. The sense of utter desolation she’d experienced when she’d slipped the ring from his finger. The party of six men who’d come to look for the paper she’d taken from the compartment in the back of his watch. How she’d fled over the snow to the small farmhouse, hiding her skis in the barn. The gjetost and black bread she’d eaten before falling into an exhausted sleep.

  But nothing in her dreams seemed to fit. Steve had explained how she’d known about gjetost, and he’d told her he didn’t think she’d ever been a maid. Jan had said she didn’t ski, and no one in her family knew of a man in her past named Nick. Everything Steve, Nita, and Jan had told her had convinced Maura that the images she’d seen had been nothing but figments of her sleeping mind. But she’d had another dream tonight, a daydream about Nick that had seemed much too real to be merely a fantasy. And now she’d found his ring, and the fact that she had it changed everything.

  Maura turned the ring, and reread the inscription. She had known Nick. The proof was right here, in front of her eyes. And since she’d found the ring in her own jewelry box, it meant that her dreams weren’t dreams after all. The things she’d dreamed about had actually happened.

  They were real memories that had surfaced in her own mind.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Relax, Mom.” Jan patted her on the shoulder. “No one’s watching, and it doesn’t matter if you play well or not. Don’t even think about what you’re doing. Just let your muscle memory take over.”

  Maura raised her eyebrows. “Maybe my muscles have amnesia, too.”

  “No, Mom. That’s not possible. Muscle memory is something that’s formed by . . .” Jan started to laugh, as she realized that her mother was grinning. “Okay, okay. You were teasing, and I didn’t catch it. Now don’t worry about the scoring. I’ll take care of that. Are you ready?”

  Maura nodded, although the last thing she wanted was to run around on a cement court. After she’d found the ring, she hadn’t been able to sleep and she’d stayed up late watching television. When she tried to cancel her early morning tennis date, Jan had seemed so disappointed, Maura had given in and agreed to play.

  As they watched, the couple who’d been using the court gathered up their things and left. The moment they were gone, Jan turned to her mother and smiled. “Come on, Mom. Let’s get out on the court and have fun . . . okay?”

  “Okay.” Maura followed Jan through the gate and stepped out on the court. She didn’t see how hitting a fuzzy yellow ball with a tennis racquet could be fun, but she was willing to try. Perhaps she would have felt more like playing if she’d been wearing something attractive, but the short white split skirt and loose-fitting blouse with inserts under the arms looked too much like her old high school gym outfit.

  “What’s the matter, Mom?” Jan noticed her mother’s disgruntled expression.

  “It’s this outfit I’m wearing. It’s really ugly! I’m supposed to be a designer. Why haven’t I designed a better-looking tennis dress?”

  Jan shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you just didn’t get around to it . . . or you might have figured that a new line of tennis clothes wouldn’t sell. The outfit you’re wearing is a basic style and it’s very traditional. Women have been wearing tennis dresses like yours for years.”

  “That doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy something new.” Maura glanced down at her outfit again. “Why does it have to be white?”

  “It doesn’t . . . at least I don’t think it does. What did you have in mind?”

  “I’m not sure, but this short split skirt has got to go. The length’s all wrong for a woman past forty, and the blouse is much too utilitarian. Tennis is an active sport, and these inserts under the arms are constricting. There has to be a way to design a sleeve that accommodates arm motion, but doesn’t get in the way.”

  “Go for it, Mom!” Jan looked pleased. “If anyone can do it, you can. And you won’t be wasting your time. There’s a big market for sports clothing.”

  Maura nodded. And then she laughed. “Maybe I will . . . if I can remember where my studio is.”

  “Uh-oh.” Jan winced. “I meant to take you up there yesterday. Did you notice the set of dormer windows on the third floor, right above the entrance to the house?”

  Maura shut her eyes for a moment and tried to visualize the front of the house. Then she smiled and nodded.

  “That’s your studio. Did you notice the doorway at the west end of the second floor hallway?”

  “Yes, I did. I assumed it was another guest bedroom.”

  “It’s the door to the staircase that leads to your studio. You’ve got northern exposure, and you put in two sets of dormer windows so you could place your drawing table between them. Don’t you remember your studio at all, Mom?”

  Maura sighed deeply as she shook her head. She had a vague memory of climbing stairs in the early morning, a mug of coffee in her hand. But that memory could be from another time or another place, and she didn’t want to raise Jan’s hopes.

  “Oh, well. Maybe you’ll remember it when you see it.” Jan smiled brightly. “Come on, Mom. We’ve only got the court for thirty minutes.”

  Maura stood where Jan told her to stand, and watched as her daughter took the opposite side of the court. Jan picked up a ball, bounced it with her racquet, and grinned. “I’ll serve first. Don’t worry about your form, Mom. Just try to hit the ball back to me.”

  Maura nodded, and went into a crouch on the balls of her feet. She wasn’t sure why she did it. It just felt right. The moment Jan’s racquet connected with the ball, she moved to the left, and reached up to backhand the ball.

  Jan gasped as the ball whizzed over her head and hit just inside of the foul line. And then she laughed. “So much for your muscle amnesia. That was a wicked return, Mom. Your serve.”

  Maura caught the ball and bounced it, as Jan had done. And then quickly, before she could think, she served it. Jan managed to return her serve, and they volleyed back and forth a couple of times. Then Maura used her backhand again, spotting the ball just inside the foul line on the right side of the court.

  “I guess the first one wasn’t just beginner’s luck.” Jan was shaking her head as she trotted up to the net. “What’s going on, Mom? You’ve never played this well before.”

  Maura shrugged. “I don’t know. When I hit the ball, it just felt right, that’s all. Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, you did something right.”

  Maura and Jan turned to see a young man standing outside the fence, watching them. He appeared to be in his late twenties and he was classically handsome, with finely chiseled features and deep, brown eyes. His hair was dark, cut very short, and he wore gold-rimmed glasses that made him look very studious.

  “Sorry for interrupting.” He gave them an apologetic smile. “I’m not supposed to be here yet, but the traffic was good, and I’m early. I didn’t mean to interfere.”

  “That’s okay.” Jan smiled at him. “Did you reserve the court after us?”

  “Yes, at nine o’clock. Since I don’t have a partner, I was planning to hit a few balls from the machine.”

  “I haven’t seen you here before,” Jan gave him a friendly smile. “Are you a new member?”

  “Not yet. They gave me a guest pass until they can review my application. You’re a member, aren’t you?”

  “Mom is.” Jan nodded. “She got an automatic membership when we moved here. It was just for
residents then, but they’ve opened it up to the public since then.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but what are my chances of being accepted?”

  Jan shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never bothered to read their rules. What do you think, Mom?”

  Maura frowned slightly. She didn’t remember joining the country club in the first place, and she had no idea what criteria the club used to judge potential members. But she didn’t want to discuss her memory problem in front of a stranger, so she shook her head. “I really don’t know, but I’m sure it can’t be that hard to get in.”

  “I hope not.” He smiled and looked very anxious. “This is a nice club, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed. Their courts are great, and I love to play tennis. It’s excellent exercise and normally I hate exercise.”

  Jan nodded, and began to smile. “Maybe you should play with Mom. She seems to have developed a real talent for the game, and she’s a whole lot better than I am.”

  “She’s a whole lot better than I am, too. Even if we teamed up, I think she could beat us.” He turned to Maura and gave a little bow. “How about it? I know it’s against the rules, but there’s no one else here and it sounds like fun.”

  Maura glanced at Jan, who was smiling happily. It was clear her daughter was interested. “It’s fine with me. But if I start to lose too badly, one of you has to jump the net to my side.”

  The young man nodded and stepped through the gate. When he reached them, he offered his hand to Maura first.

  “I’m David McGraw.”

  “Maura Rawlins . . . uh . . . actually, I’m Mrs. Keith Thomas now. Glad to meet you, David. This is my daughter, Jan Bennett.”

  “Hi, Jan.”

  David reached out to take her hand. He didn’t hold it any longer than was proper, but Maura noticed that Jan began to blush. It was odd to see her normally self-confident daughter so tongue-tied, and Maura decided to take the initiative.

  “Come on, you two.” Maura herded them toward the other side of the court. “I want to see if my luck holds out so I can beat both of you.”

  * * *

  Of course she didn’t beat both of them, but it turned out to be a close match. They played three full games, and Maura felt hot and sticky by the time they trotted off the court.

  “How about coffee, Mom?” Jan looked eager. “We could all meet in the restaurant after we shower.”

  David nodded. “That’s a great idea. I need something to perk me up before I hit the books. What do you say, Mrs. T.?”

  “I say . . .” Maura caught the anxious expression on Jan’s face and she nodded. “Yes. Coffee would be fine. We’ll meet you in the restaurant, David.”

  Jan beamed as they headed off for the women’s locker room. The moment they got inside, she turned to hug her mother. “Thanks, Mom. I know you planned to get to work early, but I really wanted to have coffee with him.”

  “I know.” Maura laughed. “It was written all over your face. He’s a very attractive young man.”

  Jan nodded. “He seems to be nice, too. And he told me he’s new in Los Angeles. What do you think he meant when he said he had to hit the books? Do you thing he’s an accountant or a lawyer, or something boring like that?”

  “I don’t know, honey.” Maura shrugged. “But I know how you can find out.”

  “How?”

  “It’s very simple. Take your shower and get dressed. And when we get to the restaurant, ask him.”

  * * *

  But Jan didn’t have to ask. David McGraw volunteered his life story over cappuccino and croissants. He was twenty-nine years old, he’d graduated from Yale with a master’s in American history, and he was working on his doctorate. The scope of his dissertation was the mapping of the territory between the Mississippi Valley and the Pacific during the early 1840s, and his special interest was John Charles Fremont.

  “Fremont?” Jan stopped buttering her croissant and began to smile. “I did a paper on him in high school. Some people called him the first governor of California.”

  David nodded. “There’s some basis for that. Fremont got caught up in the struggle with Mexico over California, and he was, at one time, appointed military governor. Unfortunately, he was convicted of mutiny in 1847.”

  “But his sentence was commuted, wasn’t it?”

  Jan looked up at him, a question in her eyes, and Maura hid a smile behind her napkin. She could tell that Jan was eager to show that she knew something about David’s field.

  “That’s right.” David grinned as he nodded. “By President Polk. Fremont stood as the Republican party’s first presidential candidate in 1856, but he was defeated by . . .”

  “James Buchanan!” Jan jumped in with a smile.

  “Give the lady ten points!” David laughed. “You’re a history buff, aren’t you?”

  Jan shook her head. “Not really. But Fremont’s life is fascinating. I did a psychological profile on him once, and I concluded he was an authentic megalomaniac. After that, I could understand why he exceeded his authority and declared martial law.”

  “Do you still have it?” David leaned forward. “Fremont’s psychological profile, I mean?”

  “I think so. It’s probably in a box in the attic.”

  “Do you think you could find it? I’d really like to read it.”

  “Sure.” Jan nodded quickly. “I keep all my papers. It’s just a matter of finding the right box.”

  “I could help you look for it . . . if you need help, that is.”

  Jan turned to look at her mother, and Maura nodded. She knew exactly what Jan was asking. Then she turned to David with a smile. “Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight? You can look for the paper then. But I’m warning you. The attic might be very dusty.”

  “That’s no problem.” David grinned. “Historians are used to dust, along with cobwebs, crumbling paper, and musty basements. We just carry a clean handkerchief and sneeze a lot.”

  Maura laughed. David had a fine sense of humor. She wanted to give them a few minutes alone, so she stood up and smiled at Jan. “I’ll be right back. Why don’t you give David directions to our house? And set a time for dinner.”

  After a quick trip to the powder room that wasn’t really necessary, Maura returned to the table. She found Jan sitting alone, with a very subdued expression on her face. “Jan? Where’s David?”

  “He had to leave. He had an appointment in the valley, and he wasn’t sure how long it would take him to get there. He told me to thank you for the invitation, and he said he’d see you tonight. Do you know who he is, Mom?”

  “What do you mean, honey?” Maura frowned slightly. Jan looked very upset.

  “Well . . . we got to talking after you’d left, and he told me his research wasn’t the only thing that brought him to California. His uncle just died, under circumstances he thought were unusual, and he wanted to find out more about it.”

  “That’s too bad.” Maura looked properly sympathetic. “How did his uncle die?”

  “In an auto accident. Your auto accident. David McGraw is Grant’s nephew!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After another of Nita’s excellent dinners, they’d gone into the living room for coffee. David sat on the couch with Jan while Maura took the wing chair across from them. Maura had just finished pouring Nita’s chocolate coffee, and David smiled as he took his first sip.

  “This is really good, Mrs. Thomas. How does Nita make it?”

  “She’s got a little wooden thing that she spins to mix up the chocolate.” Jan spoke up quickly. “And she gets the coffee and chocolate at an import shop. I’m sure she’ll let you watch sometime, if you ask.”

  David nodded. “I will. The cappuccino at the country club was good, but this is a lot better.”

  “Yes, it is.” Maura took a deep breath. She’d discussed the problem with Jan on the drive home from the country club, and they’d decided that they had to tell David that his uncle Grant had been a friend of the family
. How much more they should tell him was still undecided. Jan had insisted that it was her mother’s decision.

  “Try one of these butter cookies, David.” Jan passed the tray of cookies Nita had baked for dessert. “They’re made from my grandmother’s recipe.”

  David took a cookie and tasted it. And then he smiled at Maura. “These are incredible, Mrs. Thomas. Was it your mother who made them? Or Jan’s grandmother on the other side?”

  “It was Mom’s mom.” Jan stepped in quickly. “She was the baker in the family. Cookies, cakes . . . you name it. Her lemon cake was pure heaven.”

  Maura smiled nervously. She didn’t remember the butter cookies at all. Thank goodness Jan had covered for her! And then she took a deep breath and prepared to make her little speech. Jan had asked her to break the ice and bring up the subject of David’s uncle. “I have something to tell you, David. Jan might not have mentioned it, but your uncle was my accountant.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” David looked genuinely surprised. “You actually knew Uncle Grant?”

  Maura nodded. “He handled the books for my boutique.”

  “Tell me about him.” David leaned forward eagerly. “My mother couldn’t remember him that well. Uncle Grant was fourteen years older, and he left home when she was just a child.”

  “You never saw him?” Maura frowned slightly. She couldn’t imagine having family she’d never visited.

  “I think he came to see us once, when I was a baby. But then my mother remarried, and Uncle Grant didn’t get along with my stepfather. He never came to see us again, and we never drove out here to visit him. And now . . . it’s too late.”