After a quick review of Amnesia Friday, the outline of how I assumed Friday went, I jotted down the note: Someone wanted my camera and followed me from work to the park.
I looked at the pen in my hand and smiled at my absent-mindedness. I would have to return the spy pen to Wright Investigators before someone missed it.
Maybe I would ask Victor again if he noticed any other cars in the parking lot or across the street. I glanced at the note with his name on it. Why is Victor so against the abortion case? Should I keep the note? Yes, I’d keep the reminder until I understood his agitation. It might have nothing to do with Friday, but still...
I flipped open the file labeled “A-Z Women’s Choice Clinic” and arranged pictures of witnesses and contacts, pairing them with transcripts of interviews. Maybe after making some tea, I would sit down and skim the transcripts.
Melinda had given us good information. We would need to convince her to talk to her parents and get permission to use her testimony in the case. Would I find anything useful in the testimonies, anything that could help me piece Friday together?
I sighed and got up to make tea. The memories I’d gained gave me a good picture of Friday, unfortunately without getting any closer to knowing who attacked me or why. The memories of kissing Jarret and arguing with him must have occurred after the attack. Had he really thought I was cheating on him?
I set a pan of water on the range and turned on the flame, as a knock sounded on the front door.
My heart skipped a beat. I had told Roland to come by after lunch because I wanted to work alone. He and Sean planned to go over the pictures on Jarret’s camera this morning anyway. Maybe he had found something.
I sprinted to the door and yanked it open.
Mike stood on the porch, dressed in a tweed sport coat and jeans, arms behind his back and head down, possibly staring at the smudge of dirt on his brown designer shoes. His shiny black Mercedes sat in the driveway.
He lifted his head and gave me a broad smile as he peeled black sunglasses from his face. “Well, hello there, young lady.”
I shuddered, perhaps at the sight of the sunglasses. The image of my attacker still lingered in my mind. “Mike. Hi. What’re you doing here?”
He swung his little black doctor bag around from behind his back. “I was in the neighborhood.” He dragged his arm across his forehead and exhaled through his mouth, as if the mild seventy-six-degree day was unbearably hot. “Mind if I come in?”
I should’ve used the peephole. I did not like the idea of being interrupted, much less of having him in the house... alone. Clutching the half-open door, I glanced at my outfit—a comfy knitted skirt and over-sized t-shirt—then squinted at the tinted windows of his Mercedes. “Is Jarret with you?”
“With me? Why, no. Didn’t he call you?”
“Call me? No.” The phone hadn’t rung all morning.
“Oh, well, we’ve been so busy, what with the move and the deadlines and the time he’s missed. We’re all behind. Especially Jarret. I guess he forgot to call but, well, why don’t I come in and we can talk about why I’m here?”
I hesitated. “Um, well, the house is a mess and I’m in the middle of something. Give me a second and I’ll give Jarret a quick call?” I swung the door closed.
Like a battering ram, his hand shot out and stopped the door mid-swing.
I jumped at the impact, a little flutter of anxiety rippling through me.
“A quick call?” His pale eyes flashed with a look showing he’d taken it as an insult. “We’ve been friends for how long? Now you’re acting suspicious of me? Do you have a reason for that?”
“I’m not. I’m sorry. It’s just that Jarret...” Not sure how to best complete the sentence, I let it hang.
“Yes, that husband of yours is a jealous one.” He gave a knowing look. “But he sent me over here, so he must trust me. And it was me he called upon to help you Saturday, was it not?” He waggled his eyebrows and smiled. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll get him on the phone.” He pulled out his cell phone, tapped it a few times, and put the phone to his ear, turning as he waited. “Oh, well now, doesn’t that figure.” He faced me. “Jarret is on another call. Honestly, he sent me over, so why don’t you let me in? We don’t want Jarret angry at us, now do we, Catie?”
Catie? No one had ever called me that, not even my brothers and sisters when they were too young to pronounce my name. Kay-wyn, they called me. I stepped back as he pushed his way inside.
“I had to drive out your way, anyhow.” He strolled to the kitchen, his gaze sweeping through the house. “So I told Jarret I didn’t mind stopping.” He glanced in the direction of the patio door or at the cluttered table, and then at me. “You alone?”
“Um, yes.” I closed the front door and joined him in the kitchen area. “He wanted you to check on me?” Jarret and I had reached a level of trust, so I didn’t want to believe this.
He leaned against the counter island, his gaze grazing over my body before returning to my face. “Not exactly, but how are you doing?”
“I’m fine.”
“Your head?” He brought a hand up, touched my hair, and pulled a curl down over my face.
I blew the curl away and stepped back. “Really, I’m fine.”
“I don’t imagine your memories returned.”
“So, why is it you stopped?”
“Right down to business, huh?” He gave a lopsided grin. “Pictures, my dear. I believe you have some pictures on your computer that I need.”
“Pictures?”
“It’s work related. Jarret took pictures at work and they are no longer on his camera. You don’t mind if I sit down at your computer?” Doctor bag in hand, without waiting for the answer, he proceeded to the weight room. “I won’t be long.”
I followed him into the little room. If he hadn’t come to check on me, why the doctor bag?
Mike plopped down and the desk chair sighed. He turned the computer on and swiveled the chair toward the weights.
“I am jealous of Jarret’s weight set. But I’ll wager he doesn’t have time to work out like he used to. My guess is you keep him pretty busy.” He grinned and gave me an obvious once-over in a way he wouldn’t dare do in Jarret’s presence.
I narrowed my eyes and spoke in a cold tone. “I don’t really know.”
“That’s right. Your memory.” He continued to stare, nodding slowly, like a doctor thinking over a patient’s symptoms. “How are you and Jarret getting along? It must be strange not remembering your husband.”
“We’re fine.” The computer booted up and was ready for him to use, if only he would turn around. I stared at it, hoping he would take the hint, get his stupid pictures, and leave.
“I suppose it could be kind of exciting, sort of like being with a man you’re not married to. Since the amnesia, have you and Jarret...” He gave a look as if he assumed I knew what he was talking about, which I probably did, but it disgusted me that he would ask such a personal question.
I folded my arms and exhaled loudly. “Are you really a doctor?”
“What? Why, yes. That’s an odd question.” He spun to face the computer, grabbed the mouse, and clicked through files.
“A doctor makes good money. Why are you working at an archaeological site?”
He chuckled. “You sound a little suspicious there. Haven’t you ever found yourself in a situation you’d rather not be in? Maybe you will find it hard to believe, and I hope you won’t share my secret, but I don’t really enjoy being a doc-tor, listening to a person’s gripes, touching rashes and old, wrinkled bodies and looking into various orifices. It was my father who wanted me to become a doctor. Maybe ‘want’ is not the word, more like ‘insisted.’ He paid for my education and would tolerate no other vocation. He monitored my grades, arranged my internships... He was a doctor, as was his father before him, and I guess he felt it vitally important for his only son to follow in his footsteps. Why, he even spoke to me of having a so
n to carry on the tradition.”
“What does your father think of you studying archaeology, or doesn’t he know?”
He ran his hand over his hair, as if to smooth it back, though it seemed more like a gesture of habit. “Well, my father died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” A pang of grief over my own father’s death struck me, and my heart softened to Mike.
“Yes, well, now I am no longer imprisoned by my father’s whims. I am free to pursue my own interests. And my own interest, Caitlyn...” He leaned and I backed up. “I like a little more adventure. So, I returned to college to study archaeology. I guess I pictured myself traveling the world on expeditions.” He returned his attention to the computer. “But I’ve stayed pretty close to home.” Mouse in hand, he searched our computer, clicking on various file folders.
“You wouldn’t mind getting me a little something to drink, now would you?” He cleared his throat. “I’m a little dry.”
“Oh, sure.” As much as I wanted to keep an eye on him, I appreciated the opportunity to step away.
“Some lemonade or a soda. Anything would be mighty fine.”
I stepped into the kitchen and my gaze snapped to the phone. If I hadn’t been so set on working alone, I would’ve invited Roland over earlier. He would be with me, with us, now. How long would Mike stay? He’d be gone by the time Roland came over, even if I called him now. I picked up the phone and tapped his cell phone number anyway.
With the phone to my ear, I opened a cupboard for a glass. I had no reason to feel uneasy. Mike would be gone in a matter of minutes. Jarret had wanted him to stop by for the—
“Hello?”
I sighed at the sound of Roland’s voice, the muscles that had grown tense in Mike’s presence relaxing. “Roland, it’s me. Do you think you could come over, like, right away?” I opened the refrigerator and glimpsed movement out of the corner of my eye.
“Sure. Is something wrong?”
“So, what do you have to drink?” Mike appeared beside me, too close.
I lowered the phone and forced a smile. “Oh. I’m getting it.” I peered into the refrigerator. “We have juice, milk, water... Oh, here’s a Coke.” I grabbed the red can and handed it and a glass to Mike.
He set the empty glass on the counter and grinned at me as he cracked open the can. “Is that Jarret?”
“No.” I held the phone at my waist.
He took a long sip from the can. “I’ll be another minute in there. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”
When he said “hair,” it triggered something in my mind. So when Mike turned away and strolled back to the weight room, my gaze snapped to his hair. He wore it pulled back in a ponytail that seemed a bit longer than Jarret’s. And he didn’t have bangs, so if he wore it down, it would probably hang in his face. And if he wore black shades...
My pulse kicked up a notch and fear slithered up my spine.
“Something wrong?” Mike stood in the doorway of the den, staring at me.
“No.” I turned away and put the phone to my ear. “Roland?”
Silence.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Mike came up behind me.
I shivered and turned to face him, trying to keep my expression calm. “Phone’s not working.”
“And I meant to ask when I arrived, where’s your car? I didn’t see it in the drive. After all you’ve been through, you didn’t get in an accident, now did you?” His questions sounded familiar, so familiar.
I looked at him but my vision blurred and his features faded into his pale face... dark circles for eyes... My head grew light.
I had been staggering down the road when, by chance or the grace of God, a cab stopped and picked me up. The address I gave the driver rolled off my tongue without my even thinking about it. I repeated the address to myself, wondering whose it was. The cab driver said I’d been walking in the wrong direction. And he said other things, talking, talking, but my head ached so, and I desperately wanted a warm blanket and to lie down. I woke as the cab pulled into a driveway and the driver announced the charge.
The driver twisted around to face me and repeated the charge, so I reached for my purse. I had no purse. I asked the driver to wait.
As I headed for the house, the door opened. Jarret stepped outside and met me on the front porch, worry in his eyes. “Are you okay? Where’s your car? You get in an accident?”
“Do you have any money?” I looked over my shoulder at the cab.
“Yeah.” Jarret put a hand to his back pocket and dashed down the driveway.
I stumbled inside. My head was pounding like mad and my body ached with exhaustion. I considered collapsing onto the couch, but I wanted my own bed.
The front door slammed. Jarret spoke over my shoulder. “Man, you’re late. I tried calling your cell phone. What happened to you? Something go wrong?” He followed me into the bedroom and turned on the light.
“What? No.” I squinted from the light and turned to him. Something about him seemed strange.
“Nothing’s wrong?” He spoke loudly and looked me over with half-crazed eyes. “Your hair, your clothes...” He gestured. “What happened to you? And where’s your car? Did it break down? Did you get in an accident?”
“What? No.”
“So, where’s your car?” He stared with intensity.
“My car? I don’t know.” I turned away and stepped into the bathroom.
He slammed a hand to the door, keeping me from closing it. “That’s it? I’m here worrying about you for three hours, you don’t call, you come home in a cab, and you’ve got nothing to say?”
“What do you want me to say?” I rubbed my forehead. I wanted to lie down.
“I want you to tell me why you’re late.”
I threw my weight against the bathroom door, forcing it shut.
The memory connected with the one I had gained the other night. Jarret was angry, but he wasn’t drunk. I could hear him shouting through the bathroom door. He was upset because I was late with no explanation. He had no idea where I’d been, because he had nothing to do with it.
CHAPTER 41
I SAT SLOUCHED on the couch, holding a wet washcloth to my forehead. When the memory had hit me, I’d zoned out. Mike led me to the couch, brought me a washcloth, and told me to rest. I vaguely remembered telling him I felt lightheaded and that he had said I’d be fine. Then he must’ve returned to the weight room, but I hadn’t seen him do it.
What triggered the memory? Mike’s hair? I’d never paid much attention to it—anxious as I’d been to avoid him—but it was long enough to pull into a ponytail, maybe longer than Jarret’s.
Could he have been my attacker? No. What motive would he have had? Could he have been involved in one of my cases? No. How would any of them pertain to a doctor and part-time archaeologist? He worked with my husband. He had nothing to do with Amnesia Friday. I wasn’t thinking clearly.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, but my mind continued to turn. It wasn’t Mike’s hair that triggered the memory so much as what he said. Are you all right? Where’s your car? Jarret had said that. He was so worried about me.
Guilt pricked my conscience. Until a few days ago, I had misjudged him.
The lightheadedness passed, so I set the washcloth aside and pushed myself up. I should get back to work. Roland would be over soon, and we could review each other’s notes and ideas.
I stepped to the table at a leisurely pace, not wanting the lightheadedness to return. My gaze fell on the pictures I had laid out.
Pictures. What pictures did Mike need from our computer? Was he looking for a particular picture? Something he at first thought was on my camera...
I shook my head. Drop the paranoia. He came for pictures from Jarret’s camera: pottery, fields, dirt... They had nothing to do with my cases, and there was nothing suspicious about them in the least.
I scanned the faces of the girls in the pictures spread out on the table, then picked up one of t
he files. I wanted to review the transcript of Melinda’s conversation. Then I would review Roland’s notes from his conversation with Adeline.
Melinda. Why had she looked familiar? I flipped through the pictures of the girls related to the A-Z Women’s Choice Clinic lawsuit. Melinda’s picture was not among them, but I felt certain I’d seen her before. The pictures on the bookshelf!
I dashed from the table to the bookshelf in the living room. Maybe I’d met Melinda through the pregnancy hotline. Maybe Melinda had had a baby before she lost one to abortion.
I glanced at one and then another picture. No, wait... I thought back to our meeting at the park. Melinda hadn’t known me at all. And she hadn’t recognized Jarret, either. We had never met before.
“How are you feeling, my dear?” Mike stood near the doorway of the weight room, his sport coat draped over one arm and his black doctor bag in hand.
“All done?” I rested my hands on the back of the couch, relieved at the prospect of him leaving.
“I believe I am.” He moseyed into the living room and let his coat slide onto the leather armchair. “What do you say I check that baby’s heartbeat before I go?”
“Oh.” I glanced at the door, wanting him to leave but... The baby’s heartbeat? I couldn’t turn down the offer. “Okay. Can I hear it?” Hands clasped, I walked around the couch.
“Why, sure.” He set his bag on the coffee table, eased it open, and withdrew something from it. “This here is a fetal Doppler monitor, an ultrasound device that transmits the sound of the baby’s heartbeat.” He showed me a white hand-held monitor with a probe attached by a coiled cord. “Now this’ll work better if you lie down, and I generally use a dab of gel.” He pulled a small tube from his bag—and blew it off?—while I stretched out on the loveseat.
I lifted the bottom of my over-sized t-shirt and shoved the waist of my knitted skirt down enough to expose my belly.
Sitting on the coffee table, he hunched over to work. “This’ll be a bit cold.” He squeezed the gel onto my abdomen, then placed the probe under my navel and slid and tilted it back and forth.
Anyone but Him Page 31