Forget Me Not

by Fern Michaels

  “Nope. We lived on a farm, and all we did was work.” Angie finished the wine in her glass and poured more. “Drink up, Lucy. I’m ahead of you here.”

  “Fill ’er up, friend.” Lucy downed the entire glass in one long swallow. “Okay, now we’re even.”

  “Your eyes are crossed,” Angie singsonged.

  “Ha-ha! So are yours.”

  “This will finish off the wine,” Angie said, trying as hard as she could to peer into the wine bottle. “But the good news is there are four bottles of beer left, which we either have to drink or throw out.”

  “You know my feeling about wasting stuff. I say we drink it.”

  “You are the boss. By the way, when we officially get down to work, do I call you boss or do I just call you Lucy?”

  “You can call me whatever you want, because you are my best friend in the whole world. You are my only friend. You’re better than a sister. Sisters always fight and are jealous of each other. That’s what the slick magazines say,” Lucy said, then hiccuped.

  Angie got up and teetered over to the refrigerator. She pulled out two bottles of Bud Light and removed the tops. “One glorious hangover coming up.”

  Just as Angie started to say something else, the doorbell rang, sounding its three loud musical notes. Lucy’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Angie, holding the two bottles of beer, flapped her arms wildly at the sound and almost dropped the Bud Lights.

  “Who do you think it is?” Lucy hissed. “I never get company at this time of day. I never get company, period.”

  “We should have kept one of those damn guns. I’ll see who it is, but I’m taking this with me,” Angie said, putting down the bottles of beer and removing a wicked carving knife from the butcher-block container.

  “Tell them . . . tell them . . . the mistress of the house is not receiving guests today,” Lucy said as she struggled to get up from the chair. Angie pushed her back down as the doorbell’s musical notes sounded again.

  Angie sniffed as she waved the wicked-looking knife around. “Persistent, aren’t they? If I have to stab them, we can drag them inside, and no one will know.”

  “We’ll know,” Lucy bleated.

  “Yes, but we’re leaving, and the house will be locked up.”

  “That’s drunken logic,” Lucy said as she tried once more to get up. Angie pushed her back down for the second time. “I will handle this!”

  Lucy shrugged and leaned back in her chair. She had faith that her friend would do just that.

  A moment later, she heard Angie call out, “It’s that wuss you were telling me about, the one with the broken bones. Should I let him in?”

  Lucy’s hands immediately went to her hair to smooth it down. She realized she wasn’t wearing makeup or perfume. Damn! This time she managed to make it to her feet and weave her way to the foyer. “You didn’t stab him, did you?” she asked as she tried to focus on the good-looking man standing in the doorway.

  “Not yet. Well, should I invite him in or not?”

  Before Lucy could respond, Luke Kingston said, “Invitation or not, I’m not setting foot inside until you get rid of that knife.”

  “Well, Lucy said you were a wuss. Remember this. There are two of us and one of you.”

  “I’ll remember that. The knife please.”

  Angie dutifully handed it over.

  Lucy decided it was time for her to say something. She fumbled for words that wouldn’t offend. “What are you doing here, Mr. . . . I mean, Luke? I’m sorry we can’t offer you any refreshments. We . . . we drank them all. You said you were a wuss. I was just repeating what you said to my friend.”

  “There are two bottles of beer left,” Angie said brightly.

  Luke tried his best not to laugh. “Coffee would be good. It’s cold out there,” he said, jerking his head sideways.

  “We can make a fire if you’re cold. We can, can’t we, Angie? What is he doing here?”

  “No, we can’t make a fire. I think we have some coffee.”

  “Ladies, show me the kitchen.”

  “You can’t take charge like this. This is my house. What are you doing here? How many times did I ask you that?” Lucy asked belligerently.

  “Two times. Just in case you’re counting. I’m going to make some coffee for you ladies. I came here to talk to you because . . . because . . . Oh, it doesn’t really matter why, since there’s no point in my trying to talk to you when you are . . .”

  “Drunk?” Angie said helpfully.

  “I was going to say indisposed, but yes, drunk also works. So, where is the coffee?”

  Lucy tried to clear her fuzzy brain. Luke Kingston was standing right here in her kitchen, and she was drunk as a skunk. Such an impression I’m making, she thought sourly. She blinked. “You came all the way here to make coffee and to talk to me . . . us? About what?” That sounded not too terribly drunk. She struggled to focus more clearly.

  Oh, hell, they both look guilty. But, guilty of what? Maybe this was a mistake. No, it wasn’t a mistake. You feel a connection to this young woman. Sober her up and see what shakes out.

  Lucy took a deep breath. “Just because we’re . . . in . . . inebriated doesn’t mean we’re guilty of something. Sobering me up is your game plan. Aha, I’m right. See, Angie, he wants us to sober up so he can . . . so you can what, Mr. Kingston?”

  “Talk to you about something very important. Show me where the coffee is,” Luke said curtly, “and stop reading my mind.”

  “Why should I?” Lucy said stiffly. “This is my house, and I can do whatever I want to do. Isn’t that right, Angie?”

  “That is absolutely right, spot-on, Lucy.”

  “It’s impossible to talk to a drunk and doubly impossible to talk to two drunks,” Luke said as he measured coffee into the wire basket.

  “I heard that,” Angie snorted.

  “So did I,” Lucy growled. “We aren’t stupid. Tell us what you have to say.”

  “Good. Fine. Okay, then, the FBI came to see me today. About your house in Palm Royal. The house I built for your parents. They wanted a key to get into the house. Since I don’t have a key, I couldn’t give it to them. Even if I had a key, I would not have given it to them. They’re going to get a warrant. We’re talking the FBI, ladies. I told you all that in the message I left for you. Don’t you pay attention to what you hear?”

  Luke had seen his share of drunks during his lifetime. Until that moment, though, that very minute, he’d never seen two drunks sober up in a nanosecond. It had to be his mention of the FBI. “You can say something now, ladies.”

  Lucy’s tone was several degrees beyond defensive when she said, “So let them look at the house, but I would think they’d need a warrant or something. There’s nothing but furniture in the house.”

  “I can attest to that,” Angie said smartly.

  Luke just looked disgusted. “What did you take out of the house, and where is whatever you took out? FBI agents aren’t stupid. They know something. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be wasting their manpower. They were wearing guns, and they made sure I saw the shoulder holsters. Tell me what’s going on and let me help you.”

  “We took . . . I took my parents’ clothes. There wasn’t anything in the house. They barely lived there. You were inside. Did you see even one personal memento or picture? No, you did not, because there were none. The place gave me the creeps. That’s why I couldn’t wait to leave.”

  “That’s true,” Angie said, backing up Lucy’s story.

  Luke poured coffee. They’re lying. One lies, and the other backs her up. What the hell am I doing here? “Drink!” he said, handing over cups of coffee.

  “Why would I lie about my parents’ clothes? I have no idea what the hell you’re doing here,” Lucy said tightly.

  Luke let his eyes roll around in his head. Damn, she really can read minds. “I’m here because . . . because I felt . . . feel a connection to you, Lucy Brighton. I know that sounds corny, but my mother had green
eyes just like yours. I wanted to get to know you better. Goddamn it, I want to help you. You are so out of your league here if the FBI is involved. Where are the things you brought back with you?”

  Ah, caught like a rat in a trap. “What? You want to see my parents’ clothes! Why? I understand the part about wanting to know me and feeling a connection to me, but my parents have nothing to do with what either you or I feel or don’t feel. Isn’t that right, Angie?”

  “That is absolutely correct,” Angie responded, right on cue.

  “You stashed the stuff somewhere, right? You can’t produce it, right? Is that what you’re going to tell the FBI when they come knocking on your door? Do you know the penalty for lying to the FBI? The FBI can hold you for seventy-two hours without letting you call a lawyer. Then they can charge you with obstructing justice.”

  Luke had not the slightest idea if what he’d just said was true or not, but it sounded good. Evidently, the girls thought so, too, because both of them looked like they were going to start bawling any second.

  “Talk to me!” he roared.

  Angie started to wring her hands.

  Lucy narrowed her eyes. “What kind of connection do you feel toward me?”

  Luke threw his hands high in the air. “It’s hard to explain. I just felt like I wanted to get to know you better. I liked your eyes. I think they’re incredible. I guess I saw something in your eyes that just made me want to know you better. I tried flirting with you, but if you recall, you had just come home from the hospital, and I was the last person you wanted to see or talk to, or at least that was the impression you gave me. But, having said that, you did invite me in and let me look around the house I had built. I appreciated that. I also appreciated that you were in pain and still trying to be nice to me. I tried to think of ways to get to see you again, to talk to you. That’s why I put that packet together, then called you. I was devastated when I went by the house and Adel told me you had already left the day before. And, by the way, Adel said she felt we were meant for each other. Then today, when the agents from the FBI came to the site in Miami, I had this awful feeling you were in some kind of trouble. So, here I am.”

  “Ooooh, that’s so sweet. Isn’t that sweet, Lucy?” Angie said, dabbing at her eyes.

  “There’s sweet, and then there’s sweet,” Lucy said flatly. “You just automatically assumed I did something wrong, and that’s why the FBI came to see you. Didn’t you for even one minute think maybe it was a mistake?”

  “No, actually, I didn’t, because my gut told me something was wrong. I didn’t think it was you as much as I thought maybe your parents did something. Did I forget to mention that I also thought when I met you that you had the saddest eyes I had ever seen? Beautiful but sad. Look, I didn’t know your parents. I heard rumors about how aloof they were, how they were never there, and, of course, about your father’s refusing to treat Carl Palmer on the golf course. It was logical, I thought at the time, that you were either into something or covering something up. I still believe that. Whatever it is, those agents are going to find out. So, please, talk to me and let me help you before it gets out of hand.”

  Lucy drained the coffee in her cup. She no longer felt the least bit drunk. She looked over at Angie, who nodded ever so slightly.

  “The people who lived in that house in Palm Royal and who died in that car crash were not my parents. I can’t prove it, but my heart and my gut tell me they are not my biological parents. You’re right. It isn’t me. It was them. You might as well get comfortable, because it’s a long story.”

  “I have all the time in the world. Are we going to need more coffee?”

  “I’ll make it,” Angie volunteered. She busied herself getting out cups, spoons, powdered creamer, and sugar packets from one of the cabinets.

  Luke settled himself at the table and folded his hands as he prepared to listen to whatever was going to be divulged. He tried to make his mind blank so as not to distract the beautiful young woman with the green eyes.

  Lucy took a deep breath. “This is going to sound, for want of a better word, unbelievable, but I can’t help that. Just let me get it all out, and don’t say anything until I’m done.” Another deep breath and she was like a runaway train as she started to talk.

  From time to time Angie interjected with the words “It’s true. Everything she’s telling you is true.” And, periodically, she would pour coffee, which no one drank.

  “And there you have it,” Lucy said forty-five minutes later. “If we hadn’t decided not to waste the wine, we would have left, and you would still be standing on the porch, knocking on my front door. We didn’t want to stay alone in this house another night, especially after the message you left on the phone. You can talk now, Luke. Do you have any questions?” Lucy asked anxiously.

  “We can prove everything. We can take you to the storage unit. We didn’t even unload Lucy’s father’s SUV. We just drove it into the pod, locked it up, and left.” Angie related the story about the false name and the story she’d given the old man at the storage facility. “We could go there if you want to. I said I had a brother. So, what do you think?”

  Luke’s mind raced. He’d heard some stories in his life, but this one took the cake. All he had to do was look at the two women to know they were both scared out of their wits. “I don’t know what to think. But I do believe you.”

  Lucy bent down to scratch at her foot.

  “Stop that right now,” Angie said. “You’re going to get an infection.”

  Lucy shook her head. “What do you think we should do? Maybe we shouldn’t have told you. We barely know you, and now you’re involved in . . . whatever this is.”

  “Well, off the top of my head, I’d say you need to talk to someone. The fact that the FBI has made the first move kind of makes me think you should talk to them. Then again, I’m just not sure. It’s a given that they will get a warrant to search the house in Palm Royal. Are you sure you cleared everything out?”

  “I didn’t leave so much as a thread behind. Unless they know that safe is there, the house will give up nothing. Seeing is believing, so let’s go upstairs, and I’ll show you the safe in this house. It’s identical. You can make up your mind after you see it.”

  Angie led the way to the second floor, while Lucy took the chair rail.

  “Where are the wires, Lucy?”

  “In my purse on the bed. Turn on the lights, and let’s get to it.”

  Inside the walk-in closet, Lucy turned to Luke. “Since you are seeing this closet for the first time, do you see any signs, any indications that there’s a safe in this closet?”

  Luke dropped to his knees and peered at everything, the floor, the molding, the walls. “No. This is an exact replica of the closet in Palm Royal. Your mother was insistent as to how much room she wanted in the closet. She even had a drawing to scale with the measurements. We had to make the master bath a little smaller to accommodate the square footage in the closet because she was so insistent. We did not install a safe. That had to have been done after they moved in.”

  The umbrella wires in hand, Lucy turned to Luke and met his gaze. He had nice eyes, she thought. They were a soft gray, the color of the mourning doves who perched on her windowsill in the morning. She blinked. Gray eyes. With his curly dark hair, she would have thought he’d have dark eyes, smoldering eyes. Instead, his eyes looked kind and gentle.

  “Okay, watch this,” Lucy said, fiddling with the wires in her hand. She pressed the button, and Luke’s jaw dropped as the floor started to slide open. He dropped again to his haunches and stared at the yawning opening.

  “My hat’s off to whoever installed this. It’s a work of art. On his best day, my father couldn’t have done this, and I know I sure as hell couldn’t. This is true craftsmanship. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a safe like this.”

  “That makes two of us,” Lucy said quietly. “The one in Palm Royal is just like this one. A true duplicate.” She pressed the digits on the ke
ypads, then opened the doors to the three compartments.

  “This safe had to be made to order. That means there are no serial numbers to identify the manufacturer. I’m also thinking this is foreign made.”

  “Considering the contents we told you about in both safes, do you think my parents were spies? I’m talking about my real parents. Not the people living in the house in Palm Royal.”

  Luke felt sick to his stomach. “I don’t know, Lucy. I don’t want to tar someone with a brush like that, but I would have to say it is definitely a possibility. We need to figure this out.”

  “We need to get out of here is what we need to do,” Angie said.

  “I don’t think anything is going to happen tonight. Tomorrow is time enough to follow through on your plan to relocate. You do realize you can’t hide from the FBI, don’t you? What’s that saying? ‘You can run, but you can’t hide’?”

  Lucy sat back and leaned against the wall. She stared into the open safe. “My mistake was taking everything out of the safe in Palm Royal. I packed it up and moved it. I should have left everything just the way it was. The same thing goes for this safe. If I had left it alone, I wouldn’t be going through this mess right now. If I hadn’t panicked and moved everything and had gone to either the police or the FBI, I would have more credibility. Right now I have none. No one is going to believe me.”

  Angie slid down on the floor and wrapped her arms around Lucy’s shoulders. “We could put everything back. We can go to the storage unit and get the car and drive it back to Florida. After we put everything back in this safe.”

  “That won’t work, Angie. I destroyed the umbrella. I just have the wires. They’ll know someone, meaning me, figured it all out when the umbrella isn’t in the closet in Palm Royal. Why didn’t I just leave it there?”

  “Because you thought . . . you were going to find the same thing here, and you did. Minus the umbrella. This is so above my pay grade,” Angie said morosely.

  Both women looked up at Luke, who was towering over them. “I don’t have a magic bullet, ladies, if that’s what you’re thinking. We need to put our heads together and come up with a plan.”