by Hillary Avis
“So let’s tell Paul everything. Let him make the decision.”
Michelle sat back, considering. She drummed her fingers on the arms of the sofa. Finally she said, “I’ve known Paul my whole life—he’ll do the right thing, and that’s putting the pen into Emily’s hands. The real question is will Emily protect it from her fiancé?”
“I think she will. Paul protected it from me.”
“You didn’t know about it. What if you’d been trying to find it all those years? Surely you would have.”
“Then he has to stay in the dark. It’s the only way.” Allison shrugged. “We have to keep Zack away from Elaine.”
“No, we need to keep Zack away from Emily,” Michelle said darkly. “He could turn on her at any point.”
Allison didn’t even want to think about it. About Emily’s happiness being destroyed. Zack wouldn’t want that, either. She’d seen his affection for Emily again and again—there was no denying he genuinely cared for her. “He loves her. I know it. Plus, Emily said he’s shaken up about what his mom did. I mean, a murder charge? Breaking into my house and locking me in the basement? Anything Elaine tells him about his family history will sound like the ravings of a lunatic. He’s not going to listen to her.”
Michelle looked skeptical. “What if he finds the files and puts it together like she did?”
Allison had forgotten about the files. “As long as he doesn’t have the pen—” She broke off, remembering that she hadn’t had the pen, either, and she’d still managed to plant a memory in someone’s mind. Elaine already had everything she needed—she just hadn’t known it. That meant anyone with access to the paper or the library could play God, if they wanted to.
“What?” Michelle asked. “What is it?”
“You never asked me how I got out of the basement.” Allison took a deep breath and braced herself for Michelle’s reaction. “I used a page from the books and rolled it up to make a pen. Then I wrote a memory into the books of Elaine calling the police and turning herself in. That’s why Kara showed up. She remembered Elaine calling and confessing to murder.”
Michelle’s eyes widened. “And it worked?”
Allison nodded, feeling queasy. “It worked perfectly.”
Horror crept across Michelle’s face. “So if Zack learned about the Claypools from his mom—”
“Or put it together himself,” Allison interjected. “Elaine still has all those file cabinets of memories somewhere.”
“Right.” Michelle nodded. “As long as he has the paper, he doesn’t even need Emily’s pen. He has everything he needs to make a new library. You realize what this means, don’t you?”
“What?” Taylor asked from the doorway. When they both turned to look at him, he shrugged. “I finished putting the books away.”
“Come here.” Michelle held her arms out to him and he moved to sit beside her on the sofa, then leaned to allow her to give him a side hug. She planted a kiss on top of his head. “It means we have to stage a break-in of our own. That paper is more dangerous than I realized.”
“I’ll find out where she was keeping it. I bet it’s in her apartment in Portland,” Allison declared. “I’ll find a way in. Maybe Emily has a spare key.”
Michelle nodded. “Good. Once we have the paper back, then we’ll give the pen to Emily and find a new guardian for the library.”
“A new guardian? Why?” Pure panic shot through her. Without the library, she had no chance of helping Paul rebuild his memories. Worse, she’d lose all memory of what she’d seen in the magic books. She’d be back at square one, a memory widow. Not to mention, she’d have to find a new place to live.
“You know too much.”
“So does Elaine,” Allison said darkly. “She remembers her guardianship somehow—aren’t you worried about that?”
“She’s in jail now. You’re the one I’m worried about. You have the pen.”
Allison held it out toward the sofa. “You can have it back. Hide it somewhere I can’t find it.”
“I’ll hide it somewhere really good!” Taylor said eagerly, looking up at Michelle.
Michelle smiled at him fondly. “I know you would. But Allison can find the memory of where we hide it if she looks through the books. Plus, now we know that she can just make a pen out of one the blank pages, so there’s no point.” She turned her attention back to Allison, who lowered her arm. Michelle nodded at the pen now resting in her lap. “It’ll be safer in Emily’s hands, since she doesn’t live in Remembrance and the library doesn’t record her memories. Your memory of using a page as a pen will be erased, and the new guardian won’t understand how the library works—not really—so there’s less chance of abuse.”
“You think I’ll abuse the library like the Claypools did?” Allison asked, indignant.
“I don’t think you can resist tinkering with what’s in Paul’s head.”
Allison bit her lip. She had been thinking exactly that but was still offended that Michelle would make that assumption and then say it to her face. “What if I promise not to? Would you accept my word?” She tried not to blink as she waited for the answer, unsure herself whether her word was any good.
“I don’t really have a choice,” Michelle said bluntly. “Plus, I need you to steal back the paper.”
“And find the files,” Allison reminded her, her heartrate quickening as she thought about staging a burglary of her own.
“What files?” Taylor asked.
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.” Michelle stood, leaning heavily on her cane. “We need to go and let Mrs. Rye have some rest.”
Rest. Everyone wanted her to rest. But Allison couldn’t rest until she got her hands on everything Elaine had stolen.
Chapter 38
Sunday
Myra tipped back her fancy church hat to look Allison up and down. “You seem good!”
“You sound surprised,” Allison said wryly as she took her seat on the Feast and Flower patio and picked up her menu. The scent of marionberry pancakes floated from a nearby table, making her mouth water and her stomach growl simultaneously. “Does that mean you’ll let me come back to work?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Well, your outsides look good. Now we’ve got to see about your insides. How are you feeling?”
“I’ll be feeling better after some coffee.” When her joke didn’t change Myra’s expectant expression, Allison sighed. “I’m still a little shaken up. You don’t imagine your future in-laws will be murderers, do you?”
“Or your former friends.” Myra clucked her tongue and shook her head so the yellow flowers on her hat fluttered. “Just goes to show you never really know someone. How’s Emily taking it?”
“She and Zack are—dismayed is the best way to put it, I guess.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Kara said in a rush, plopping down in one of the empty chairs. She had on her navy blue uniform, which meant she was heading into work after brunch—or had just come off an overnight shift. The dark circles under her eyes said the latter.
“Long night?” Allison asked.
Kara chugged the bloody Mary that the server set in front of her, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and picked up her menu. “What should I get? I’m starving!”
Allison and Myra shared a look over their own menus. Kara had completely ignored the question, which meant only one thing—
Myra reached out with a hand to pull down the menu that blocked Kara’s face. “We know something’s up, so you might as well spit it out. If you don’t, it’s going to sour on your tongue and make your breakfast taste bad anyway.”
“It’s nothing.” Kara’s eyes welled with tears and she blinked furiously. “I just—well, they put me on administrative leave!”
“Who did?!” Myra’s eyebrows shot up, and a creeping sense of dread invaded Allison’s stomach. She put down her menu, her appetite gone.
“Leroy petitioned the city council. They held an emergency meet
ing last night and told me this morning.” Kara shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s it. I’m done. I should start sending out resumés, because my career here is over.”
Myra slapped down her menu, jostling the whole table with her indignation. “What? Why?!”
“Is this about Elaine’s case?” Allison asked quietly.
Kara jerked her head to stare at her. “How did you know?”
“I just had a bad feeling.” Allison sighed. This was her fault—all the evidence Kara had for the case was manufactured. Allison had planted both the red gemstone and the memory of the confession...and Elaine had probably figured that out. “Let me guess—she says you made everything up.”
Kara nodded, and a hiccup escaped.
“Well, that’s stupid. She confessed.” Myra crossed her arms and scowled. “I can’t believe they’d put you on administrative leave just because a suspect decides to lie. It’s your word against hers, and surely your word is worth more!”
“I think it would be, usually. But there’s a problem.” Kara took a deep, quavering breath and let it out again. “There’s no record of her call. I mean, it’s not in my call log or hers. Some kind of technical glitch, I guess, but now I can’t prove she called me. And she says she didn’t.”
“Maybe she used my phone,” Allison blurted out, her mind racing. “She took it from me before she clubbed me with that book. Check and see if you have any calls from me.” Even if the time stamps didn’t match, it would look better than no call log at all.
Kara shook her head. “I specifically remember seeing her name in my caller ID, not yours. ‘Kirkpatrick comma Elaine.’ I didn’t recognize the name at first but then figured it might be your Elaine. Not yours, especially not now, but you know what I mean.”
Allison rubbed her forehead. She’d included the caller ID detail so Kara would be sure to answer the phone, but now she regretted it.
“I feel like I’m going crazy. What if I am? What if I imagined the whole thing?” Kara looked back and forth between Myra and Allison, her eyes wide and pleading. “Or maybe I went a little overboard at happy hour.”
“Don’t be silly.” Myra pursed her lips. “You didn’t make it up. When you showed up, Allison was locked in the basement. She didn’t do that to herself. You’ll testify, won’t you, Allison?”
Allison nodded, but Kara sighed. “She’s not denying that part, though. She admitted that you had an argument over wedding plans and then she locked you in the basement out of anger. She’s denying the murder confession part. She says it never happened.”
“I wish I could testify to that,” Allison said. She really did. But she hadn’t even seen Elaine’s memory. The confession had just been her best guess what happened that night in the woods.
“Well, she can’t prove it didn’t happen,” Myra said. “Why would you make that up, anyway? She’s just a crazy person—everyone can see that now.”
“Who knows? But she volunteered to take a polygraph test tomorrow. She seems very confident that she’s going to pass, and if she does, the murder confession won’t stick.” To Allison, Kara added, “If you press charges, they’ll get her for prowling, maybe, and false imprisonment since she locked you in the basement. Otherwise, she’ll just be released.”
Allison swallowed hard. If Elaine was confident that she’d pass the polygraph, maybe the murder hadn’t happened the way she’d written the confession in Kara’s memory. She’d kept it so simple, so undeniable. But maybe she had made it too simple. Too easy to work around. Elaine might be able to tell half-truths, partial truths, or even an actual truth and dodge the examiner’s questions.
She wished she could plant a corresponding memory Elaine wouldn’t be able to deny the confession, but she simply couldn’t. Elaine wasn’t a resident, so her memories weren’t there on the page. If only she still owned the Claypool family home—then her memories would be in the books. But unfortunately, she didn’t have an address in Remembrance anymore.
Did she?
Allison’s heartrate shot up. “Can inmates receive mail at the jail?”
Kara nodded, and Allison gasped. Elaine had an address here in town! Maybe the library held Elaine’s memories now that she’d been incarcerated. If so, Allison could edit the memory of Tim and Dara’s murders to match the confession Kara had reported so Elaine couldn’t weasel her way around the polygraph questions.
She pushed back her chair and stood. “Sorry I can’t stay—” she began, but Kara grabbed her arm, cutting her off.
“Don’t do it!” Kara’s gaze was so intense that Allison had to look away.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she mumbled, tugging her arm out of Kara’s grasp.
Kara leaned forward in her seat and spoke earnestly. “Don’t communicate with her directly if you plan to press civil charges. You should talk through lawyers, if at all. It could really mess up your case. That’s just my advice as a second-rate cop on administrative leave, though.”
“You’re not second rate,” Myra chided.
Kara snorted. “That’s not what Leroy says. If you ask him, he’ll give you a long list of my failings as a law enforcement officer. He’ll even give them to you if you don’t ask.”
“Don’t mind him. He just wants to run the county.”
“If she passes the test, I’m not going to press charges,” Allison said softly, and both swiveled their heads toward her.
“After what she did to you?” Kara’s brows drew together. “How can you let that slide? Your kids are getting married and she basically assaulted you!”
Myra’s expression was more sympathetic. “Weddings make people crazy. When my cousin Mandy got married, her future sister-in-law actually hid her bridal bouquet right before the ceremony. Mandy didn’t want to cause a big scene, so she walked down the aisle holding her mini poodle instead. It turned out cute, actually. And now they’re good friends, so she was probably right to play nice and let it slide.”
“This isn’t a bouquet, though,” Kara said hotly, sitting up straight in her chair. “She locked Allison in the basement!” Her voice was so loud that people at several nearby tables turned to look at them, and Kara flushed.
“And she called you to come let her out,” Myra reminded her. “She knew she was in the wrong. Who knows, by the wedding you might be cordial again.” This last part was directed at Allison.
If only Myra knew how far beyond this wedding Elaine’s actions reached. How her malice reverberated generations into the past. It didn’t matter that her intentions were noble. No matter how much Zack deserved his Claypool birthright, that didn’t mean Elaine could steal other people’s memories—or their lives—to get it back.
Allison looped her purse strap over her shoulder and gave Myra a pained smile as she turned to leave. “I guess we’ll see what happens.”
Chapter 39
It wasn’t there. No matter how many times she read the table of contents in the Homicides book, the Crisps’ names weren’t there. Tears pricked Allison’s eyes and she gave in and let them fall, dampening a blank page at the bottom of the page. She’d been so hopeful that the library would consider Elaine a resident now, but apparently the temporary nature of her stay in the Remembrance jail wasn’t enough.
She couldn’t alter Elaine’s memory if the memory wasn’t in the books. She sighed and let the book fall back into the box, jostling the volumes underneath, and scooped up the box to return it to the basement. She was halfway out the back door when she had a thought.
Just because Elaine’s memory wasn’t in that book didn’t mean her memories weren’t being stored in the library. There was another possible explanation. What if Elaine’s memory of killing Tim and Dara Crisp wasn’t in the Homicides book because Elaine hadn’t done the killing herself? If she hadn’t injected the poison but instead slipped a snake into the tent, she might not have witnessed the actual deaths...and if the snake was the killer, not her, the library might not record her memory in that particular
book anyway. It would be stored under another title, something like Creepy Snake Handling or Sneaking Around the Woods in the Middle of the Damn Night.
So Elaine’s memories might be here in the library after all. But where?
She turned back to put the box on the table, suddenly overwhelmed by the towering shelves of books that lined every wall. If she weren’t already grateful for the muddled methods of memory storage, she’d resent the task. There was no time to search book-by-book for a specific memory, though. Elaine’s polygraph was in—Allison checked the kitchen clock, which was ticking close to midnight—eight or nine hours.
She had two options, as far as she could see. The first would be the simplest—if Elaine’s memories were in the books after all, she could simply use the pen to add a chapter to the homicides book that matched the confession. It didn’t matter if it was what really happened, as long as it made Elaine fail the polygraph.
The second option was messier. If Elaine’s memories really weren’t in the library, she’d have to give someone else a memory—a memory that corroborated Kara’s. A witness to the call? No, too easy to disprove. Maybe a witness to the original murder. Someone else camping in the woods that night. Or a ranger—a ranger would be very credible. And if someone else came forward with new evidence against Elaine, it might persuade the DA to discount the polygraph results and go ahead with the murder charges.
She scanned the bookshelves. One memory—that’s all she needed to prove or disprove the existence of Elaine’s memories in the library. She needed a memory that everyone had, so she chose the thickest volume in the room. Family Dinners. It must have weighed twenty-five pounds. She heaved it onto the table and tipped open the blue linen cover to scan the table of contents, which was twenty pages of tiny type itself.
Allison groaned when she saw how it was organized—by date—and slammed the cover shut, raising a puff of dust. She sneezed as she hefted the book back onto the shelf. She really needed to dust the books; it was getting as bad as the attic down here. As soon as she thought of the attic, she stopped where she stood, her hand still on the spine of Family Dinners.
