Mystery Wife

by Annette Broadrick

  Eventually they had found that Michael and Anna Matlock had had a daughter they'd named Alisha Marie Matlock. Alisha had been delivered at one of the local hospitals by a doctor whose name was signed at the bottom of the certificate as attending physician. Her vital statistics were similar to Sherye's, but her birth date was listed as April 11.

  Because of the time constraints, LeBeau had made no more effort to follow up on a possible connection between Thelma Hopkins and Anna Matlock. Instead he had traced Alisha's records in an attempt to establish whether or not she was the woman they hoped to identify. He'd followed a paper trail through her childhood, her school years and marriage to Dennis Conrad.

  Dennis.

  As soon as she'd heard Dennis's name, memories had crashed down around her. Dennis had been the key to unlocking her past.

  She'd met him during her senior year at SMU. They'd married two weeks after graduation. Four years later he'd been killed when a commercial airline tried to bring a crippled plane in to land at the Dallas-Fort Worth airport. Dennis had been one of twenty passengers killed.

  When her memories returned, the pain of her loss felt new, as though she were reliving that time in her life.

  It was Janine who had been there for her, Janine who had stayed with her day and night those first few weeks. If Janine had not been with her, Alisha might have died the night she'd miscarried her twelve-week fetus and begun to hemorrhage.

  The double loss had been more than she could bear, or so she had thought at the time. Why couldn't she have permanently forgotten that terrible time in her life? What was wrong with having selective amnesia?

  At least she would soon be able to see Janine again.

  She remembered most of her life now. She remembered when she and Janine had met, both of them freshly out of school, Alisha newly married. They had become instant friends, and the friendship had deepened over the years.

  What she couldn't remember was how she had come to be in France, although there was a certain amount of logic in the idea that she might have chosen to spend her summer vacation in the country whose language she had majored in and presently taught.

  The problem was, she couldn't remember. There was a gap in time, no more than a week or so, when she could remember nothing. She recalled the last few days of school, when she and Janine were looking forward to having time to themselves.

  Janine had been invited to join a group that was going to tour Scotland for the summer months. Alisha had been invited to go, but she'd decided not to travel that year.

  What had changed her mind?

  So many questions, and so few answers.

  Now it was the middle of August. She'd been found near Sherye's burning car the first week in June. The school was closed for the summer. Everyone employed by the school had scattered to enjoy their well-earned summer vacation.

  If Janine had followed her itinerary, she should be arriving home within a few days of Alisha. Perhaps Janine could help her reconstruct some of those missing days.

  On the other hand, maybe she couldn't.

  Alisha knew that she had to find out.

  In addition, Alisha intended to do some investigating of her own. She wanted to know more about Thelma Hopkins, the midwife who had given birth to Sherye.

  She wanted to find out why the two of them were born in the same city only a day apart to different parents, although they looked like identical twins.

  Alisha knew that she had to focus on something to blot out the loss of the family she had acquired in France.

  Most of all, she had to forget Raoul DuBois, whose presence in her life had taught her how to love again.

  ❧

  When the taxi let her out in front of her condominium, Alisha felt a sense of anticlimax. She carried only a small bag, having left all but essential toiletries in France.

  Everything looked the same and she wondered how she could possibly have forgotten the place she had lived for the past three years. She and Dennis had been renting an apartment when he'd been killed. After she'd lost the baby she had decided the only way she could face each day was to begin somewhere else.

  With part of the settlement from the airline and Dennis's insurance, she had bought the condo, determined to make a home for herself, determined to get on with whatever life remained to her.

  When she unlocked the door and opened it she found scattered across the floor an enormous stack of mail that had been dropped through the mail slot. She stopped, gathering up the envelopes and magazines, and carried them into the dining room, where she placed them on the table.

  Her poor houseplants were dead and there was a film of dust over everything. She wished she could remember leaving here.

  She checked the refrigerator and found it empty of anything that might have spoiled. She must have made preparations to be gone for a while.

  After stepping out into her small enclosed patio area where the grass seemed to have grown a foot, Alisha felt a little overwhelmed with all that needed to be done. The heat and humidity drove her back inside. She was tired, that's all. Once she got a good night's sleep she'd be ready to tackle the dust and the grass. She'd be glad to have something to keep her busy until it was time for the school year to begin.

  She decided to go upstairs and lie down for a while. There was nothing that needed to be done right away. Then she'd make a list of groceries and go out a little later to shop.

  Halfway up the stairs the sudden ringing of the phone startled her, causing her to jump. She ran up the rest of the way. Her hand was shaking when she lifted the receiver.

  "H'lo?"

  "Ah. Then you have arrived safely."

  Her knees buckled and she sank onto the side of the bed. What was it about a Frenchman speaking English that was so provocatively sexy? Her pulse rate doubled and she fought to take a calm breath.

  "Hello, Raoul."

  "When did you arrive home?"

  "I've only been here a few minutes." She glanced at the bedside clock. "Maybe half an hour. How did you know when to call?"

  "I didn't. The hospital told me you left yesterday and they weren't certain of your travel plans, so I have been calling off and on all day.

  "How is Sherye?"

  "There is no change."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "And you? Does everything in Dallas look familiar to you?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "The doctors say that you've regained most of your memory."

  "Yes, except that I can't remember anything about going to France. The last I remember I had intended to spend the summer at home. I don't know why I ended up over there."

  "Have you spoken with your friend, what's her—oh, yes, Janine?"

  "No. I remembered that she had plans to spend the summer out of the country. She should be back in a few days."

  "Perhaps she can help with some of the blank spots that are left in your memory."

  "Perhaps."

  He sounded so close. She could almost feel his presence. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting for composure. He didn't need to know how much she missed him.

  "I, uh, want you to know that the doctors are preserving your confidentiality. Now that they know we are not connected in any way, they referred me to you if I had any questions. LeBeau gave me the information he'd turned up on you."

  "I don't mind your knowing about my life, Raoul."

  "I was sorry to hear about your husband. It was very sad how he died."

  "Yes. Yes, it was."

  "It makes me very angry that you had to go through so much this summer, in addition to what you've had to face in the past."

  "It wasn't your fault. Besides, I didn't remember any of it then, and I don't regret my summer in France." Her throat closed and she swallowed. "I will cherish the time I had with you and the children. It was very, very special, to me."

  "You are certain that you are all right now?"

  "Yes. Please don't concern yourself with me, Raoul. I'm a survivor. I'm used to being
on my own."

  "Of course. I forget about the independence of the liberated American woman."

  He was teasing her! She hadn't heard that tone in his voice for such a long while. She laughed, but her laugh caught on a sob.

  "Has there been any luck tracing Mario?"

  "The police in France and Australia are investigating his role in the matter. As far as I know, he's still being sought for questioning, but I have heard nothing more about the

  investigation. Until Sherye improves enough to be questioned, there isn't much we can add for them."

  "How are the children?"

  "They miss you very much. They have accepted that your name is Alisha and that you only look like their mother. Because of your accident, you were told you were their mother. Yvette speaks of you often and asks about you. Jules is too young to understand why you aren't here, of course."

  "Give them my love. I'll send them some colorful postcards to let them know I'm thinking of them." She bit down hard on her bottom lip. "This phone call must be costing you a fortune. I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine now that I'm home. School will begin in a few weeks and I'll soon be back into my regular routine."

  There was a silence on the line. She couldn't deal with his feelings as well as her own.

  "Goodbye, Raoul," she said in a polite tone of voice. "Thank you for calling. I really must go."

  She placed the phone back on the receiver and stared pensively at her last connectiqn to Raoul.

  Just as she had expected somewhere deep inside, the chateau and all those who lived there had been a wonderful dream, one that couldn't last. She was awake now and her real life had to go on just as before.

  ❧

  Three days later the doorbell rang. Alisha already knew who it was because Janine had called earlier to make sure she was home.

  There had been several postcards from Janine in the stack of mail waiting for Alisha. She had put them in order by date to get an idea of the places Janine had visited.

  Alisha opened the door and smiled at her friend, who seemed to be vibrating with energy and excitement. Janine was already talking as Alisha swung open the door.

  "Gawd! But it's great to be home. Boy, did I get homesick. I can hardly wait to—" She had dashed by Alisha and spun around, her words jumbled together in one long rush until she looked at Alisha and came to an abrupt halt, her eyes widening. "What in the world have you done to yourself!"

  Alisha frowned. "What? Do you mean my weight? I don't think I've-"

  "No-no-no, not your weight. Your hair! What have you done to your hair! It's gorgeous, and the style looks marvelous on you. I've never seen you wear your hair down like that. You look downright glamorous, like some movie star or model or something."

  Alisha grinned and shook her head. "C'mon, I'll pour us some iced tea and we'll go catch up on each other's summer."

  Janine followed her into the kitchen, still staring. "But it's something else, isn't it? There's something else that's different. I just can't quite put my finger on it. You have a different look about you—softer, maybe. Almost a glow or— I've got it! You met a man while I was gone, didn't you? That's what it is! You're in love. I should have seen it right off. But there's a sadness there, too, that doesn't quite fit with the glow." She tilted her head and lowered one brow. "I can see that it doesn't pay for me to turn my back on you for a minute. You can't be trusted to behave yourself when left alone."

  Alisha handed Janine a glass and they wandered into the living room. "You have a point there," Alisha said, sinking into one of the stuffed chairs. "I have a question."

  "Shoot."

  "Before you left, did I mention anything about going away this summer?''

  Janine's eyes narrowed. "Don't you remember? You wrote me a few days after I left. The letter arrived while we were still in Edinburgh."

  Alisha leaned forward eagerly. "What did the letter say?"

  Janine blinked. "You're asking me? You wrote the thing, don't you remember?"

  "I'll explain in a minute. Can you remember what I said?"

  "Hmm. It was something about you'd gotten a letter explaining a last-minute speaker cancellation for a teacher's conference in Paris. It was all unexpected, last-minute stuff. You were asked to fill in, your room and airfare were provided, and you'd decided to go."

  "Who was sponsoring it?"

  "You didn't mention that part."

  "Where was it being held?"

  "You mean, where in Paris? Gee, I don't know. I don't think you said. Now then, would you mind telling me what this is all about? When I didn't hear from you again I figured you were too busy to write, plus we were moving around so much I thought you might have sent something that never caught up with us."

  Alisha stared at her friend in silence for several moments. Janine was her best friend and yet she was having trouble trying to decide how to tell her what had happened. The whole story was too bizarre for words. Finally she leaned back in her chair and said, "I have something to share with you that I don't intend to tell another soul. This will be our secret. It's nobody's business at school how I spent my summer vacation, but I have to tell someone."

  She began with waking up in a hospital, not knowing who she was.

  She ended with Raoul's phone call on the day she arrived back home.

  Janine had not moved or spoken during the entire unfolding of events. She sat there staring at Alisha with her mouth slightly open. When Alisha finished with her story she got up and went into the kitchen, retrieved the iced-tea pitcher and returned to the living room. Janine still hadn't moved.

  Once her glass was refilled, Janine picked it up and drank as though she had been the one talking nonstop, as though her throat had gone completely dry.

  "That is the most— That is the strangest— Can't you see Catherine Deneuve playing a part like that? Of course, she'd play a dual role. It's really a beautiful... and sad story... and-"

  "And I want your help."

  "My help! What can I do?"

  "I want you to help me find out if there's any connection between my birth and Sherye's."

  "Do you really think there is?"

  "Of course I do! Don't you?"

  "But Sherye sounds awful! I mean, she treats her husband like dirt, ignores her kids, she's rude to her sister-in-law, not to mention the fact that she happens to have what sounds like a nasty drug habit—''

  "That doesn't mean that we might not be related."

  "You don't just mean related, and you know it. You're talking identical twins here, which would be pretty tough to prove considering two different women gave birth to you."

  "That's what the birth certificates say, but Sherye's mother was a midwife."

  "So?"

  "I remember Mother telling me that she had wanted to have me at home and that they had it all planned to have a midwife, but once she was in labor there were complications. My dad called an ambulance and had her rushed to the hospital."

  "So?"

  "Don't you see? What if the complications included twins?"

  "Oh, c'mon, Alisha. Isn't that a little farfetched? I mean, your mom and dad were there, for Pete's sake. Don't you think they would have known how many children she had?"

  "Maybe. But they both talked about it later, about how scary it was. The pain was much worse than Mother had expected. My dad had panicked. Who knows what happened? But if I could find out the name of the midwife, and if it was Thelma Hopkins, I certainly think my theory would fly."

  "You think there was a baby born at home without your mother's knowledge and the midwife took it?"

  "I know it sounds crary, but there's got to be some kind of explanation why people who knew Sherye well could mistake us."

  "Did your parents leave anything in their personal papers that would shed any light on any of this?"

  "No. After Dad died, Mom moved to Corpus Christi. I had to go down there after she died and pack everything. All the papers were standard stuff. My birth certifica
te has nothing unusual. If my mother did have twins, I don't think she ever knew about it."

  "How awful."

  "Yes."

  "Then Sherye could be your sister."

  "I think so."

  "Which means you're in love with your sister's husband."

  "You certainly cut to the heart of the matter, don't you, Janine?"

  "Well? Thaf s what we're really talking about here. While you didn't have a memory you lived in Sherye's house with Sherye's husband and children. You, in essence, lived your sister's life."

  "My alleged sister."

  "Nitpick all you want, old girl, but you're in a real pickle."

  "Don't be silly. Everything's been straightened out. Whatever happens, I'm no longer a part of it."

  "Don't you care what happens to Sherye?"

  "I've been thinking about that. I don't have any particular feeling about her, other than seeing such a wasted life. She's made some pretty poor choices over the years and her life is really messed up. Unfortunately her husband and children are suffering right along with her."

  "Don't you want to see her, talk with her, try to get to know her?"

  "No. I hope for her sake that she recovers and that she'll be able to get her life straightened out, but I have no desire to have anything to do with her."

  "You sound angry."

  "I am angry. It's my belief that Sherye somehow found out about me. I don't know how or when, but I think she used the fact that she had a twin to put in her place so that she could pull her disappearing act and get away with it. If there was any way I could find out more about the so-called teachers' conference I was asked to attend—all expenses paid—I bet I could prove that Sherye was behind it."

  "I hadn't thought of that."

  "That's all I've had to think about since I found out that I wasn't Sherye DuBois. She used me, or at least she benefited by my being there. The doctors theorize that I was given some kind of drug that would cause amnesia, at least on a temporary basis. I can't fathom anyone being so wrapped up in their own needs and pleasures that they would manipulate and endanger another person's life."