Deadly Memories

by Joanne Fluke

  Maura hesitated slightly, and then she hugged him back. Keith sounded sad, and she could understand why. He knew she’d forgotten him completely and that had to be a blow to his ego. No husband would enjoy knowing that his wife regarded him as a stranger.

  “Well . . . I’d better get dressed if we’re going out to dinner.” Keith stepped back and picked up his suitcase. “I’ll take a quick shower and meet you both down here. Why don’t you get Steve a drink, Maura?”

  Maura nodded and headed for the liquor cabinet. It was easy to recognize because it had crystal decanters arranged on top. She reached for the unblended Scotch, poured out two fingers in a low tumbler, and filled another, taller glass with bottled water. There were three containers of nuts on the bar: peanuts, cashews, and pistachios. She ignored the peanuts and cashews, and filled a bowl with pistachios.

  “Here you are, Steve.” Maura carried the glasses over to him, and set them down on the coffee table. Then she went back for the bowl of pistachios and set that out also. “Would you like something else to tide you over? I can ring Nita for some chips and salsa.”

  “No, this is fine.” Steve took a sip, and then he looked up at her. “What is this, Maura?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure. I think the decanter said Scotch.”

  “Why did you give me Scotch, instead of bourbon, or whiskey, or rum?”

  “Because . . . I don’t know!” Maura stopped, suddenly confused. She’d poured the Scotch without thinking. Her hand had just gone to one of the decanters. “Is that right? Do you usually drink Scotch?”

  “Yes. Exactly two fingers with water in a separate glass. And I prefer pistachios to peanuts or cashews. Sit down, Maura. You look faint.”

  Maura sank down on the couch next to him, and took a deep breath. Then she turned to him with a question in her eyes. “Does this mean I’m beginning to remember?”

  “Perhaps.” Steve frowned slightly, and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “But it may have been simple motor function memory, without any conscious thought.”

  “What’s motor function memory?”

  “Your hand automatically went to the right decanter and poured the proper amount. And you chose the pistachios because they were in the container you used every time you poured me a drink.”

  “I see.” Maura frowned, recalling her tennis game with Jan. “Is motor function memory similar to muscle memory?”

  “It’s exactly the same. Your central nervous system has a memory of frequently repeated actions. A left-handed person with amnesia doesn’t usually make a conscious decision about which hand he should use. He just reaches out with his left hand without thinking, because he’s done it that way so many times before.”

  Maura nodded. “So what you’re saying is that my body may remember what my mind doesn’t?”

  “It’s certainly possible. One of my friends runs an Alzheimer’s care facility, and she runs into phenomena like this every day. One of her patients, an elderly concert pianist, sat down and played Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto Number Two in its entirely. But when she asked him what piece he’d played, he couldn’t tell her. His fingers remembered the moves, but his mind didn’t recall anything about it.”

  “That makes me wish I’d learned to play the piano.” Maura sighed deeply. “At least I’d be able to do something.”

  “The designing isn’t going well?”

  “It isn’t going at all. I know what I want, but I can’t seem to get it down on paper. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to draw. I spent two hours this morning trying to design a sleeve before I realized it couldn’t be sewn that way.”

  “Maybe you’re getting hung up on the details.” Steve smiled at her. “Just let your fingers do the drawing, and make your mind a total blank.”

  Maura frowned slightly. “That shouldn’t be difficult. My mind’s a total blank anyway. Just this afternoon I had to ask Nita where we kept the light bulbs. I don’t know where anything is anymore!”

  “Neither do I . . . especially after my cleaning lady comes. She puts everything away where she can find it, and I don’t have a clue. I have to call her at home every time I run out of toilet paper.”

  “I hope you have a phone in the bathroom.” Maura started to laugh, and Steve joined in. It felt good to laugh after the disappointing news that she might not be regaining her memory after all.

  “Maura? I’m ready.” Keith came into the room. “Is this a private joke?”

  “Not at all.” Steve grinned at him. “Maura was feeling bad because she forgot where they kept the light bulbs, so I told her I didn’t know where the toilet paper was at my house.”

  Keith nodded, although it was clear he didn’t understand the joke. Maura took pity on him and stood up. “Never mind, Keith. I guess you had to be here. Would you like me to fix you a drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll have wine with dinner. Shouldn’t you be getting ready, Maura?”

  “Yes. I’ll do that.” Maura excused herself and hurried up the stairs. When she got to her room, she glanced at the clock and frowned. They still had a half hour before they left for the restaurant and she was already dressed. Running a comb through her hair and freshening her lipstick would take only a fraction of that time.

  She’d just combed her hair when she thought of it. Perhaps Keith hadn’t liked the dress she’d chosen. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out, and that was to ask him.

  She was about to go back down the stairs when she remembered the intercom connected to the telephone. There was a sheet on her bed table giving her the codes, and she punched out twelve for the living room.

  “Hello?” Keith answered so promptly, she knew he must have been sitting right by the phone.

  “It’s me, Keith. Did you like the dress I was wearing? Or would you rather I change?”

  There was a moment of silence and then Keith laughed. “Sorry, Maura. I forgot that you wouldn’t remember. Usually, when we go out to a fancy restaurant, you wear one of your own designs.”

  “Oh.” Maura nodded, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “Is there any dress you prefer?”

  “It’s really up to you, but I don’t think you’ve worn the black voile to Champagne Bis. It looks good on you and it’s classy enough. If anyone’s there, you might get a mention in the trades.”

  “The trades?”

  “Yes, honey. Daily Variety, The Hollywood Reporter, L.A. Style, places like that. It could do you a lot of good.”

  “Thank you, Keith. I’ll be down shortly.” Maura winced at the note of formality in her voice. As she hung up the phone, she gave a deep sigh. Life was much more confusing now that Keith had come home. He seemed to expect her to behave in a certain way, and she had no idea how to fulfill his expectations.

  Unfortunately, there were three black dresses in her closet, and Maura had no idea which one was made of voile. She certainly didn’t want to bother Keith again. He might lose patience with her. And Nita had taken Cappy to her sister’s house so her nieces and nephews could play with him. There was no one else to ask except Jan, and she was having dinner at the country club with Hank.

  It only took a moment to get the number for the country club from the information operator, and Maura dialed it quickly. She asked for Jan, and a few moments later, Maura had her on the line.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” Jan sounded anxious.

  “Nothing that you can’t fix. Keith wants me to wear my black voile dress tonight, and I don’t remember what voile looks like.”

  Jan laughed. “No problem, Mom. Voile can be made from a lot of materials, but yours is made of silk. You do remember what silk is, don’t you?”

  “Don’t be cute, Janelle!” Maura was grinning as she chided her daughter. “Of course I know what silk is. What does this black voile dress look like?”

  “It’s got a scoop neck, butterfly sleeves, and a straight skirt that’s slit up to midthigh. And you always wear your black velvet heels with it. They’re in your sho
e tree, third pair from the left on the second row.”

  “How do you know where my shoes are?” Maura laughed. “Do we wear the same size?”

  There was a brief silence and then Jan laughed. “As a matter of fact, we do. And you’ve got lots of really neat shoes, Mom.”

  “And I let you borrow them?”

  “Well . . . not exactly. But Nita and I used to try them all on while you were at work.”

  “I think I’d better put a lock on my closet.” Maura tried to sound stern. “Is there anything else I should know about the dress?”

  “No, not really. Just don’t wear a necklace. It spoils the look. Try a ring. And have a wonderful time.”

  “Thanks, Jan. I will.” Maura hung up the phone and raced to the closet. Now that she knew what to look for, the black voile dress was easy to identify. She slipped it on, found the shoes that Jan had recommended, and grabbed her jewelry box to look for something suitable.

  One by one, Maura went through her rings, but nothing seemed right. She was about to give up when she noticed something stuck under the flap of one of the compartments.

  “What’s this?” Maura pulled it out and gasped as she recognized it. The ring was made of silver and it had an antique, filigreed silver mounting. And inside the mounting was a deep blue stone with a star hidden in its depths.

  Maura slipped it on her finger and gave a little sigh. She knew she’d worn it before. It gave her a sense of well-being and it felt very comfortable on her finger. Then she remembered, and her eyes widened in shock. This was the same ring she’d been wearing at the restaurant the night Nick had told her to leave with his baby.

  She stared down into the depths of the sapphire and willed it to give up its mystery, to trigger some piece of the puzzle that might explain her strange memories. How had the ring ended up in her jewelry box? And who had given it to her?

  The star inside the stone glittered brightly, hinting of a mystical revelation. But absolutely nothing happened. She was still just as confused as she’d been before she’d found it.

  Maura sighed as she slipped off the ring and placed it inside her jewelry box. Keith and Steve were waiting for her, and she had to go down. As she left her room, she took a deep breath and made a decision. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but it was best not to mention the ring. It had come from her missing years, and it was her personal secret, a clue to the woman she had once been.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hank looked anxious as Jan came back to the table. “Is there anything wrong?”

  “Not a thing.” Jan sat back down and frowned slightly. “It was Mom. Keith wanted her to wear her black, voile dress, but she couldn’t remember what it looked like.”

  “It must be awful, losing your memory like that.” Hank still looked very concerned. “I wish there was something I could do to help her.”

  “Me, too. We’re all trying to help her fill in the pieces, but there’s still a lot of blanks. She remembers the first nineteen years of her life, but everything past that is gone.”

  Hank nodded. “How about your housekeeper? You said she’d been with you for years.”

  “That’s true. Nita’s helped a lot, but she started working for us after I was born. She doesn’t know anything about Mom before that.”

  “How about your uncle, the doctor? He must have known your mom before then.”

  “He did.” Jan nodded. “But Steve didn’t meet her until she got engaged to my dad. He would know, but he’s dead.”

  “I’m sure your mother must have had friends in college.” Hank looked thoughtful. “Is there any way you could contact them?”

  “No. Mom talked about her college friends once in a while, but I don’t remember their names.”

  “How about her college records?” Hank looked thoughtful. “Some of her professors might remember her. And they might know who her friends were.”

  Jan stared at Hank for a moment, and then she began to grin. “That’s a great idea! Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you’re too close to the problem, and you’re not thinking clearly. I’m an outsider. She’s not my mother, so I can look at the whole thing objectively.”

  “Thanks, Hank.” Jan reached out and patted his hand. “I’ll get started on it first thing in the morning.”

  “You’ll have to get some kind of release from your mom. Most colleges won’t send any records without that.”

  “You’re right.” Jan reached into her canvas tote bag and pulled out her notebook. “I’d better make a note. I think I can do the whole thing by fax, if I get her to . . . oh, great!”

  “What’s the matter?” Hank reacted to her expression. Jan was staring down at her open notebook with a worried look on her face.

  “This isn’t my notebook. I must have taken Mom’s by mistake. Maybe I should try to call her at the restaurant. She might need a phone number or something. She always keeps a list of the numbers she calls most often on the inside of the back cover.”

  Hank watched while Jan flipped to the back cover. It was perfectly blank.

  “That’s funny.” Jan was clearly puzzled. “Maybe this isn’t Mom’s notebook, after all.”

  “Flip through it. Maybe you’ll recognize her handwriting.”

  Jan flipped through the notebook and shook her head. “I can’t tell. It’s printed and Mom always writes. It could be hers, but maybe it’s not.”

  “Why don’t you read a page or two? You might be able to tell that way.”

  “I guess I could . . .” Jan frowned slightly. “But I hate to do that. It might be personal.”

  Hank nodded. “I understand. But you don’t ever have to tell her that you read it. And you can stop the minute you know it’s hers. You’ll never know who it belongs to if you don’t read it.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Jan sighed deeply. “Okay . . . here goes . . .

  “ ‘I’m standing on a hill of snow, under a large tree. Its branches are bare and I can see a small fire on a level piece of ground in the distance. The firelight is casting flickering red shadows against the white surface of the snow. It would be a pretty picture, if I didn’t know why they’d built the fire.

  “‘They’re thawing the ground for his funeral, three men dressed in long, dark coats with fur caps on their heads. The fire will burn for three days, until the ground is soft enough to dig his grave. And then he will be buried. He is gone from me, forever.’”

  Jan shivered slightly and looked up at Hank. “This can’t be Mom’s notebook. She never mentioned anything about a funeral in the snow.”

  “Read a little more.” Hank urged her. “Maybe she’s writing about something that happened in her childhood.”

  “That’s impossible. Mom’s lived in Southern California all her life. And it never snows in the Imperial Valley. I’m almost positive this isn’t hers.”

  “Then it can’t hurt to read on.” Hank gestured toward the notebook. “Go ahead. It’s really interesting. I’m getting great visuals.”

  “Well . . . all right.” Jan flipped the page and started to read again.

  “‘It’s bitter cold, so cold that I can barely feel my feet, encased in warm, lined boots. I’m wearing a parka, black with a fur lining, and my hands are tucked into leather mittens lined with the same fur. There’s something warm over my face, to keep out the frozen night air. It’s a woven ski mask with holes for my eyes and my mouth.’”

  “This is great stuff!” Hank looked excited. “Go ahead, Jan.”

  “‘I’m moving now, over the snow with a smooth glide. I must be on skis. I travel down the hill another few feet and stop by another tree. I’m close enough to hear them speaking in hushed voices as they place wood on the fire. The words are foreign, but I understand them perfectly. They are praising him, the one of their number they’ve lost.’”

  Jan looked up and met Hank’s eyes. It was clear that both of them were enthralled with the story that was enfolding. “I know for sure that this i
sn’t Mom’s. She doesn’t speak any foreign languages except Spanish, and she’s forgotten most of that.”

  “Look at the first page, Jan . . . or on the inside of the front cover. Is there a name?”

  Jan flipped through the notebook and shook her head. “There’s no name anywhere.”

  “It reads like a story.” Hank looked thoughtful. “Do you think someone was starting a book?”

  Jan shrugged. “I don’t know. But I agree with you. It definitely reads like fiction. And I think it’s very intriguing.”

  “Me, too. Do you have any idea how you got this notebook?”

  “Not really. I take mine with me everywhere. And this is a common type you can buy at any stationery store. I guess someone had one just like it. They got mixed up and took mine, and I ended up with theirs.”

  “Did yours have your name on it?”

  Jan shook her head. “I never got around to stamping it with my name. And there’s no way they could tell. The pages are full of things like ‘Call Mom,’ and ‘Pick up dry-cleaning,’ and ‘Dentist appointment.’ They’d know exactly what I do every day, but they’d have no idea who I was.”

  The waiter came with their dinner, and they stopped speaking until he’d served them. Then Jan picked up the notebook again. “Do you think I should turn it over to the club’s lost and found department?’

  “I wouldn’t, especially since you don’t know when you got it. It could sit here for years without anyone claiming it.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep it.” Jan slipped the notebook back into her bag. “But I’m not exactly sure what I should do with it.”

  “I’m not sure, either. But I think we’d better read it all the way through. Maybe there’s a clue to the writer’s identity.”

  “Oh, good!” Jan looked delighted. “I wanted to read it anyway, and that’s a perfect excuse. Now I don’t have to feel guilty about prying into someone else’s personal life.”

  * * *

  They were enjoying their dessert, an incredibly rich crème brûlée, when Keith spotted someone he knew. “Would you two excuse me for a moment? Hugh Carson just came in, and I need to confirm an appointment with him.”