About Face

by Fern Michaels

  “How awful for you and your family.”

  “Yes, it was. But not as bad as for your family. After your father died Evie did the best she could under the circumstances. You were well provided for, don’t get me wrong. But I think Evie wanted more than money. I think she truly wanted to be married again. She’d been seeing John, and Adam didn’t like it. He’d been close to his mother and couldn’t imagine how his father could possibly be interested in another woman.

  “Your grandmother Gracie took care of you when your mother couldn’t. Then, Gracie died, and Flora did a lot for your mom, cleaning and taking care of you.

  “Ronnie was in high school, so you must have been in third or fourth grade. Certainly big enough for Ronnie to look after without your mother having to worry. He took care of you sometimes. Flora spent as much time with you as she could, but she worked for the Worthingtons and couldn’t take off as much time as she liked.

  “Fast-forward about eight or nine years. Evie and John had announced their plans to marry. Adam was angry. He and John fought. They cooled it for a while. I heard your mother went off the deep end for a spell. Then they got back together. It was a long time after Evie and John were married before Adam even bothered to visit his father at Swan House.

  “I’m getting ahead of myself. Flora said you’d changed. Said it was like day and night. I guess you were the center of Flora’s life for a long time, especially after Gracie died. She’d noticed things.”

  “Flora and I talked about the molestation last night,” Casey said. “I actually remembered the dress I wore to your father’s office that day.”

  “Did you recall anything else?” His eyes were alert as they searched hers.

  “No, that was it. But it’s the first honest-to-goodness, drug-free memory I’ve had. Or at least I think it is. The other instances didn’t seem quite as vivid.”

  “Then it’s a start. Flora and my father were very concerned about you. I don’t know if Dad ever told Evie his suspicions, but I plan to find out. Flora said you were never right after that. Quiet, withdrawn, always jumping at the slightest noise.” Blake combed a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure if I should go on.” He looked to her for the answer.

  “You can’t do this to me! I’ve sat here waiting patiently, and now this!” She slung her hands apart. “Let me ask you something, Dr. Hunter. Do you know what it’s like not to know what your favorite ice cream was? Did I like cartoons, what color was my bike? Did I even have a bike? Did I have a diary? Friends? What were my secrets? Did I play Monopoly with my brother? Did Mother tell me sweet bedtime stories? Did I like school?” She stomped across the wood floor, a finger pointed accusingly at Blake.

  “You!” she cried. “You know what else I can’t remember?” She wiped her nose on the hem of her red shirt. Tears streamed down her face, and she felt her lower lip tremble.

  Blake sat back down on the sofa. “Tell me, Casey,” he said, his voice full of concern.

  She swallowed back another round of tears and sat next to him.

  In barely a whisper she uttered, “I don’t even know if I’ve ever made love.”

  “I don’t know if anyone told you this, but you were engaged once. His name was Kyle. Right after you were sent to Sanctuary, he left town. Last I heard he’d been married three times. His mother died a couple of years ago. So, whether the two of you . . . were close in that way, I couldn’t tell you.”

  Blake took her in his arms and rocked her. She sobbed and felt her tears dampen his shirt. She inhaled, loving his scent. His shirt smelled like sunshine and Clorox. She’d wondered about making love since the first time Blake held her. And the funny thing was, she couldn’t ask anyone. What would she say? “‘Oh, excuse me, you look about my age. Do you know if I slept with a fiancé I can’t remember?”’ She gave a wry laugh. “It doesn’t get any better than this, does it, Blake?”

  “Shhh, it’s okay, baby. I promise, it’ll be okay.” His words soothed her, his broad chest felt like protective armor against her breasts as he held her tight against him. She could get used to this. She sighed and pulled away from the only comfort she’d known in years, maybe in her life.

  “Please, Blake. I’ve got to know,” she pleaded.

  Resigned, he shifted his position and continued. “Like I said, Flora knew there were things going on in your life. Things that shouldn’t have been. The molesting. The obvious changes. She couldn’t do anything except watch you. You’d be okay for a while, then nothing. Flora said you sometimes went days without speaking a word. This went on for years.”

  Casey thought her behavior must’ve been typical of a molestation victim. Who would want to be friendly and outgoing when inside they were shattered?

  “Your mother told you and Ronnie a date had been set for her and John’s wedding. Poor Eve, she was so excited; this I do remember. Adam still hated the idea, but enough time had passed. His grief wasn’t as fresh and raw as he got older.

  “That’s when it happened. Right after Evie announced her engagement. Halloween of all days. Maybe it was an omen of things to come, who knows. Ronnie’s death changed a few things. Of course John and Eve postponed the wedding. Your mother wanted to go ahead with their plans, but John wouldn’t hear of it. Adam was delighted.”

  Casey couldn’t help interrupting, she had to know. “Why didn’t Adam like my mother?”

  “As I said, he’d lost his own mother. The last thing he wanted was someone trying to take her place.”

  “But you just said he was older, he’d gotten used to the idea of his father’s remarriage.”

  “You’ll have to ask him yourself. He may have thought Evie had ulterior motives for marrying his father.”

  “What ‘motives’ could my mother have possibly had?”

  “Casey, please. Let’s not go there. Talk with Adam, I’m sure he can explain what he felt at that time. Do you want me to go on?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Sweetwater hadn’t seen anything like it. Sheriff Parker wasn’t much older than me at the time. New to the office, I’m sure what he saw that day changed him forever. Grady Wilcox, the former sheriff, didn’t even bother to run against him. Said he was too old, Sweetwater needed some young blood. I look back and think Roland made his first mistake when he didn’t ask for Grady’s help. Grady might’ve been an old coot to Roland, but he knew his profession. He’d practiced law way back when. He gave it up, though, and no one even asked why.” Blake sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Flora said you’d been acting more strange than ever. She even thought you might’ve been high on drugs. Marijuana, LSD, she didn’t know, she said. I don’t know any other way to tell you this Casey, I’ve prolonged it as much as I can. I’m going to blurt it out and suffer your wrath.” He smiled, a sad smile. He took her hand in his and she felt his warmth, his firm, yet gentle grip. She looked at his hands. He had nice hands. Nice nails. Short and even.

  His voice filled with anguish as he continued. “The day Sweetwater so desperately wants to forget, Casey, is the day you allegedly killed your stepbrother.” His eyes darkened with pain as he stared into her own.

  Allegedly killed your brother. Allegedly killed your brother. Allegedly killed your brother!

  In her heart she knew it had to have been something like that. She felt as if an invisible hand were about to close around her neck, making it difficult to breathe. Panic unlike anything she’d ever known lodged in her throat, making words impossible. Wrapping her arms around herself, she began to rock back and forth as chilling images built in her mind.

  She stopped. Her thoughts paralyzed her. No! He was wrong. They were wrong. They had to be!

  “Casey.” Blake’s voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel. She stared at the wall. And rocked. Faster and faster so it would go away.

  The clothes they gave her were stiff and rough against her tender skin. She was cold. All over. A haze clouded her vision, making everything appear as if it
were floating. She glanced at her wrists. Leather, like a belt. Too tight. Her arms were strapped to her sides. Why? Suddenly, she heard voices.

  “Doc Hunter says she’ll sleep for a while. I hope whatever he gave her will knock her for a loop. My God, I’ve never seen anything like it.” A woman’s voice.

  “Yeah, well jus’ wait till you see the boy, then say that. A person should never have to see what we saw out there today. And that poor mother. She’s lost both of her young ’uns. As much as I hate to say it, this one here ought to burn in hell.”

  She was cold, she couldn’t burn. Didn’t they know that? And just who were they? She tried to get a closer look, but all she could see were their backs.

  “Dammit, Casey! Listen to me!” Blake shouted.

  She jerked forward and turned to Blake. Her voice felt raw and scratchy. “Hmm?”

  Numb, that’s what she felt. She couldn’t look at Blake. How could he do this to her after all she’d been through in the short time she’d been home? He was like all the others. Mean and cruel. She wished she’d stayed at Sanctuary.

  “Listen to me,” he continued. “You’re suffering from shock. I’m going to give you something.”

  “No! I don’t want anything. You’re just like the rest of them.” She reached for her shoes and jammed her feet into them, not bothering with the laces, and ran to the door.

  Blake grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. “This is the last thing you expected to hear, I know. Maybe I was wrong to blurt it out the way I did. I’m sorry, but it had to be said. Please, Casey, trust me.”

  She stopped. He was right. Why would he make up such a thing? The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. Why else would she have remained at Sanctuary for ten years?

  “I’m sorry. I can’t . . .” She flung her arms out loosely in front of her.

  “I know. It’s a lot to swallow. But I’ll help you. We can deal with this, Casey. I promise. Once we talk to Dr. Dewitt, he’ll help you. Then you can put this behind you and go on with your life.”

  He said “we.” Did that mean he’d stand behind her, even if she was a murderer?

  She nodded and sat back down. All the strange looks she’d received since her return. The rude clerk, Brenda. It all made sense now.

  She was a killer. A cold-blooded, thoughtless killer.

  What good would it do for her to remember? She’d apparently been insane, killed poor Ronnie, and, by the grace of God, her memory of that day had been wiped clean. She should just leave it at that. She wanted to. But something nagged at her conscience. Like a sore thumb, it was there. A fleeting thought. She’d think of it later. Right now she just wanted to absorb what Blake told her.

  He hadn’t uttered a word. She stared at him, expecting to see fear and disgust. What she saw totally surprised her.

  “Why are you looking at me that way, Casey? I’ve always known about this. It doesn’t change anything.” He reached for her.

  “This is a living nightmare! One minute I think I’m this, . . . I don’t know what, and the next minute I learn I’m a murderer.” She let him hold her. She felt safe and secure. All she wanted was to be safe. She didn’t want him to see her fall apart again. She would get through it. Somehow.

  “I can only imagine how you must feel. We’ll investigate. I’m going to find Dr. Macklin. I’ll talk to Bentley; we’ll get those reports from Marianne if they even exist. And Dr. Dewitt. We aren’t going to sit around doing nothing, Casey.” He dotted light kisses along her jawline. She drew in a deep breath. Oh, God, how she wanted to believe him. How she wanted to forget what he’d just revealed.

  “Does it really matter now? It’s not going to change what I did,” she said, despair in her every word.

  “This isn’t the end of the story.” Blake stood and began his all-too-familiar pacing.

  “Why, Blake? Why does it matter now? After ten years. I’ve served ‘my time’ so to speak. What good will dredging up the past do me? You tell me.”

  “I think something more happened the day Ronnie died. I think the entire town of Sweetwater believes that, too. Adam and I have discussed this for years, and we both believe something was covered up. We just don’t know what.”

  Can it be possible? she wondered. A spark of hope. Maybe there is more to the story.

  She was confused. “When I . . . when I killed Ronnie.” She hesitated, the words sounding foreign to her. “When I did this . . . Why didn’t I have a trial?”

  Blake turned to her. “That’s part of the mystery. While I have my suspicions, I was never privy to the so-called police report. The report Marianne and Brenda can’t seem to take the time to look for. That’s why I think it would be good to talk to Roland. See what he says after all these years.”

  “What are your suspicions?” Casey asked, anxious to hear his answer.

  “Remember, these are just my suspicions. When you allegedly killed Ronnie, my thought has always been you did it in self-defense.”

  “Forget it, Blake. I’m sure if that were the case, I would’ve had a trial, and who knows what. Don’t forget, I haven’t a clue as to what happened. It would certainly explain the medications I was on. Maybe I am crazy.” She shrugged and gave a hollow laugh. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea to question the sheriff. He apparently did his job. For whatever reason, I lost it that day, right along with my memory. Maybe we should just leave it at that.” A part of her believed those words. Another part of her wanted to investigate, with a vengeance.

  “Then how will you know?” he asked.

  Maybe she should at least give it some thought. If Blake and Adam both felt something more had happened, she owed it to them to validate their suspicions. And she was sure, when all was said and done, she’d still be the crazy lady without a memory. The crazy lady who had killed her brother.

  “I suppose it can’t hurt to ask a few questions. But Blake, I don’t want to stir up trouble. The citizens of Sweetwater haven’t been too welcoming as it is. And with John ill and Mother stuck at his bedside, the last thing I want to do is upset either of them.”

  “I agree. That’s not my intent. Do you think you’re up to a talk with the sheriff? I think that’s the most logical place to start. Depending on what he says, if you want to continue, I’ll hold off canceling the appointment with Dr. Dewitt. Your call.”

  “I might as well. But remember I don’t want to do this at the expense of someone getting hurt. And I want to see Dr. Dewitt no matter what.” She’d made her mind up in those few seconds. Even though she’d killed, she was going to find out why, because if she didn’t, how could she possibly live with herself?

  He’d seen her yesterday loaded down with packages. Though she’d been across the street, he could see that the years had been good to her. He hadn’t expected her to look so normal. Not after everything that happened that day. He remembered that day all too clearly. And he wanted to forget it.

  The buzzing of the intercom interrupted his thoughts. He was glad, since he didn’t like the direction his thoughts were taking him.

  He pushed the button. “Yes, Vera?”

  “Dr. Hunter is here. He’d like to see you.”

  He sighed. “Send him in.”

  He’d always liked Blake Hunter, but something about the man made him feel inadequate.

  The door opened. Grateful didn’t describe what he felt for his battered desk chair at that moment. If it weren’t for its dilapidated support, he’d be flat on the floor.

  The woman in his thoughts stood next to the doctor. The distance he’d viewed her from yesterday had deceived him. Not only did she look normal, she looked like she’d stepped right out of a fashion magazine. Though her hair had been longer, and he didn’t remember her being so pale, ten years in Sanctuary hadn’t taken their toll on her beauty.

  Suddenly he wished his brown hair wasn’t so thin and that he’d refused that last hot dog. He sucked his gut in as he stood and held his hand out to Blake.

  “What ca
n I do for you?” he asked, his eyes flickering back and forth between his two visitors.

  “Mind if we sit?” Blake asked.

  Shit, why now of all times did I forget my manners? And why hasn’t the cleaning crew been in lately?

  “Sure, go ahead.” He motioned to two chairs across from him. They weren’t in any better condition than his own, but at least they were clean. He quickly glanced at his desktop. The usual clutter. Files, a mug claiming he was the boss, and splatters of spilled coffee covered the surface. A gold ashtray in the shape of a star filled with overflowing butts and stubbed-out cigars. A ceramic Elvis wearing chipped blue suede shoes sat on the edge of the desk. Nothing had changed in the eleven years he’d been in office. The office looked exactly as it had the day Grady Wilcox walked out, leaving him in charge of the well-being of Sweetwater’s finest.

  Blake and Casey seated themselves, and he did the same.

  “Now, what can I do for you?” the sheriff asked Blake while he looked at Casey.

  Blake shifted in his chair and looked at his companion. “I guess you know Casey.”

  Roland knew her well. Too well. But now wasn’t the time. He coughed. “Uh, we’ve met.”

  “Casey is aware of the crime she was accused of, Roland. We’ve come here to get some answers. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Roland drew in a deep breath and tucked his shirt in. “What kind of answers are you looking for?”

  Casey chose that moment to speak. “The day Ronnie died.” She looked down. When she lifted her head, her deep green eyes were filled with tears. Blinking them back, she braved his stare. “I need to know what happened. And the report. I’m sure there had to be something filed with your office.”

  Roland felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. He would never have expected it. And so soon. Hell, she’d only been home a few days.